One year ago, I was a nothing. I was a wannabe writer with no real skill, and a lot of useless information in her head.
Repeatedly, I condemned myself to relationships (both platonic AND romantic, people!) that ended up only hurting me when I wanted to give so much more than I was really ready to handle. Have I done that this year?
Hell yeah.
But I don't cry like I used to; for no reason, angry, hurt, whatever. I've learned to deal with things in a more inward way. I've forged relationships where both members give what they've got, because others end up being all that we have. I've given up the naive nature in which I said I don't hate anyone.
You live, you learn, you love...and you hate. And that's perfectly fine. There are people who you just aren't going to like. You DO NOT have to like everyone. Just know what you're talking about. Have your evidence if someone asks why. Hating for no reason is what is morally incorrect.
Then there are the people you condemn for doing you wrong. They've done you wrong knowingly. EVERYONE has a free will. Unless there are stressed circumstances, everyone has a perception of good and evil. The line is "wuzzy," to quote Jane Goodall, but once someone has provoked your tears YOU ARE UNDER NO OBLIGATION to be nice. You shouldn't go out for revenge, but you should ignore them. It's actually as easy as giving someone the silent treatment. Only more permanent.
Of course, I'm not talking about a friend who was careless with his/her words. I mean the nasty backstabbers that you KNOW are mean. Don't hate somebody because they did better than you on a test, or a thinner, prettier, more talented at whatnot. That makes you the bad guy. Because that person has a blessing. You have yours, too.
I've learned that you can't be without ugly feelings. To deny them, is to deny the fact that you are human. Just don't let them consume you (I know; hypocritical, but I'm INFORMING. I'm blogging-legit, hoes.) and be classy about it.
Because CLASS is what will get you through life. Trust me, someone without an inkling of class is likely to be unanimously despised.
MORAL: Be classy about being a hater hoe. (And don't let people see you glare!)
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
(Listen to me, I know what I'm saying.)
Friday, December 31, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Death is Closure, Not A Reason to Hang On
"To die: to sleep, no more."
These words were said hundreds of years ago, millions of people know 'em and quote 'em before we really stop to think about what they really mean, why they are phrased in such a way, and if they are really true.
I recently suffered a devastating loss in my family and I've been repeating these words in my head for such a long time. If dying isn't an eternal slumber, what is it?
It is like lying unconscious underground as the worms try to wriggle their way into your coffin and eat away at your slowly decaying skin that's been plastered in enough foundation to smother your pores?
Is the funeral process one of closure, or simply a morbid practice? Looking at it from a purely technical standpoint: a wake is where a corpse is dressed up like a porcelain doll, covered in makeup. People stand around, supposedly mourning, but are gossiping like hens in a barnyard. People who turn funeral homes are also known for stealing jewelry off of bodies, and for ripping off families who are so vulnerable in such a confusing time. They tried to scam my family. I just wanted to say, fuck you, Hawthorne Funeral Home, for trying to take advantage of my family when we were suffering so much.
It an expensive process with a lot of loopholes and strange traditions and I've already promised my father that I wouldn't do all of that; cremation, pour him somewhere, and hold a memorial later on.
I don't think that the traditional process gives a family closure in the death of a loved one. I think that closure comes from the death itself. I knew about my grandmother's impending demise and came to terms with it, or so I thought. I gave myself a good cry the night she died, and I know that my pain would have been greatly lessened if I hadn't had to see her in the coffin. Then, have to see the coffin lying by the hole where my grandfather already was. Dropping a rose on top of it.
Some people need that. They need a tradition defined by religion because they don't have their own philosophies to fall back on. I have my own perspective; many people don't address the issue in a purely thoughtful way. That's fine; do as you please.
My plan?
Cremation, have myself divided and sprinkled anywhere I could ever want to go, all over the world. If I have money, that's what I'll have it willed to do. I hope I have some spunky grandkids.
So, I lost my original point, but it led me to my own interpretation and opinion of a very serious situation. What happens when you die defines the rules that you abided to in life. Most people are traditional and want the rules to work for them, changing themselves so they fit the mold. I say, make your own rules.
And think about what you're leaving behind.
RIP, 12/8/10♥
These words were said hundreds of years ago, millions of people know 'em and quote 'em before we really stop to think about what they really mean, why they are phrased in such a way, and if they are really true.
I recently suffered a devastating loss in my family and I've been repeating these words in my head for such a long time. If dying isn't an eternal slumber, what is it?
It is like lying unconscious underground as the worms try to wriggle their way into your coffin and eat away at your slowly decaying skin that's been plastered in enough foundation to smother your pores?
Is the funeral process one of closure, or simply a morbid practice? Looking at it from a purely technical standpoint: a wake is where a corpse is dressed up like a porcelain doll, covered in makeup. People stand around, supposedly mourning, but are gossiping like hens in a barnyard. People who turn funeral homes are also known for stealing jewelry off of bodies, and for ripping off families who are so vulnerable in such a confusing time. They tried to scam my family. I just wanted to say, fuck you, Hawthorne Funeral Home, for trying to take advantage of my family when we were suffering so much.
It an expensive process with a lot of loopholes and strange traditions and I've already promised my father that I wouldn't do all of that; cremation, pour him somewhere, and hold a memorial later on.
I don't think that the traditional process gives a family closure in the death of a loved one. I think that closure comes from the death itself. I knew about my grandmother's impending demise and came to terms with it, or so I thought. I gave myself a good cry the night she died, and I know that my pain would have been greatly lessened if I hadn't had to see her in the coffin. Then, have to see the coffin lying by the hole where my grandfather already was. Dropping a rose on top of it.
Some people need that. They need a tradition defined by religion because they don't have their own philosophies to fall back on. I have my own perspective; many people don't address the issue in a purely thoughtful way. That's fine; do as you please.
My plan?
Cremation, have myself divided and sprinkled anywhere I could ever want to go, all over the world. If I have money, that's what I'll have it willed to do. I hope I have some spunky grandkids.
So, I lost my original point, but it led me to my own interpretation and opinion of a very serious situation. What happens when you die defines the rules that you abided to in life. Most people are traditional and want the rules to work for them, changing themselves so they fit the mold. I say, make your own rules.
And think about what you're leaving behind.
RIP, 12/8/10♥
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Merry Christmas!
No real post today, just wanted to wish everyone a happy holiday! My new laptop is very happy to have met the Kimja and my followers today! ;)
Much Love!
XOXOX <3
Much Love!
XOXOX <3
Thursday, December 23, 2010
HEY DRAMA CLUB
Remember a few weeks ago when I made that post about the Formspring issue?
Well, I've realized that when issues arise and there's nothing I can do to change them, I feel better when I blog because maybe the people I want to have read this will, and they'll process it.
Today, it's drama. Yep, that suckish stuff stuffed right into what should be the best club in school.
Around half of the people who auditioned got cut: TRUE
A Freshman got a lead: TRUE
Aforementioned Freshman is now destested by many: TRUE
Aforementioned Freshman ASKED for this: FALSE
Many feel screwed over: TRUE
Yes, getting cut sucks, I would know. But words have consequences. And, if you were talking shit about this poor girl, and I admit, I was upset that she got lucky enough to get a lead when I couldn't even make ensemble, then you should know, SHE knows what's been said. And it's been affecting her horribly.
Wanna see?
http://abadcupoftea.tumblr.com/
Go check that out. And if it doesn't show you that this girl is hurting, then you're the bitchy unreachable one. No human should have the power to make another hurt so badly that they want to "die"--even if that IS hyperbole, it takes alot to make someone break down like that. That, I would know as well.
Now, I'm sorry if you got cut/didn't get what you want. I really am. But, top quote somebody else:
"(She)'s been doing this for 35 years. She's not going to pick anyone who she doesn't feel will live up to the part they are given. No one was screwed over. You're either right for the part or you're not. Period. If seniors think they should get a part cause they're seniors, wrong again. Just look how it worked out. There's no business like show business. Welcome to the game. Sorry if I seem like a dick, but it's the blunt facts."
Truer words were never spoken. So, lick your wounds, stand up and face the music(al). It sucks that so many people didn't get the chance, but there's nothing else we can do about it. if you did get casted AT ALL then feel lucky to be where you are and quit bitching. It could be worse.
And apologize if you were nasty. I'll start: I'm sorry I was upset; casting is done a certain way for a reason. I'm sure everyone will do great as soon as grudges are pushed aside.
(I also DK why I'm keeping people anon. We all know who I'm talking about, who I'm quoting, and who "she" is. I'm just holding onto some respect. So be bro, dudes.)
Well, I've realized that when issues arise and there's nothing I can do to change them, I feel better when I blog because maybe the people I want to have read this will, and they'll process it.
Today, it's drama. Yep, that suckish stuff stuffed right into what should be the best club in school.
Around half of the people who auditioned got cut: TRUE
A Freshman got a lead: TRUE
Aforementioned Freshman is now destested by many: TRUE
Aforementioned Freshman ASKED for this: FALSE
Many feel screwed over: TRUE
Yes, getting cut sucks, I would know. But words have consequences. And, if you were talking shit about this poor girl, and I admit, I was upset that she got lucky enough to get a lead when I couldn't even make ensemble, then you should know, SHE knows what's been said. And it's been affecting her horribly.
Wanna see?
http://abadcupoftea.tumblr.com/
Go check that out. And if it doesn't show you that this girl is hurting, then you're the bitchy unreachable one. No human should have the power to make another hurt so badly that they want to "die"--even if that IS hyperbole, it takes alot to make someone break down like that. That, I would know as well.
Now, I'm sorry if you got cut/didn't get what you want. I really am. But, top quote somebody else:
"(She)'s been doing this for 35 years. She's not going to pick anyone who she doesn't feel will live up to the part they are given. No one was screwed over. You're either right for the part or you're not. Period. If seniors think they should get a part cause they're seniors, wrong again. Just look how it worked out. There's no business like show business. Welcome to the game. Sorry if I seem like a dick, but it's the blunt facts."
Truer words were never spoken. So, lick your wounds, stand up and face the music(al). It sucks that so many people didn't get the chance, but there's nothing else we can do about it. if you did get casted AT ALL then feel lucky to be where you are and quit bitching. It could be worse.
And apologize if you were nasty. I'll start: I'm sorry I was upset; casting is done a certain way for a reason. I'm sure everyone will do great as soon as grudges are pushed aside.
(I also DK why I'm keeping people anon. We all know who I'm talking about, who I'm quoting, and who "she" is. I'm just holding onto some respect. So be bro, dudes.)
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
A Little Bit O' English HW, Because I'm English Now
Remember these guys? I'm changing the POV back to Ethan later...
She stood, half-concealed by the darkness that flooded the house. Her fingers traced the tender bruise on her arm, and she winced. Lights shone from cars as they drove past, but none of them stopped. She looked around, not seeing anything, hoping her parents wouldn’t hear. Then, a light flickered on and off one, two, three times, and Diana knew to step out of the house. She picked up her bag and flung it over her shoulder, stepped outside, and closed the door so lightly that it would be entirely undetected.
Once the interior of the house was insulated from any noise, she ran, sprinted for her life across the frozen grass to the car. She flung the car door open and sat inside, throwing her bag into the backseat, on top of another large duffel.
She looked at Ethan, in the driver’s seat. “Are you sure you wanna do this,” she asked, terrified he would end up kicking her out, to go back into her cold, black, abusive home.
“Oh my God,” Ethan whispered, his hand tracing along the edge of her face. “What the hell happened, Di?”
She ripped his warm hand from her cheek and out it to her lips. “I came home past curfew last night, remember?” They had been plotting this hazardous escape the night before, keeping Diana from making it home on time. She shuddered as she remembered the screaming, the red faces. She relived the vase being thrown through the air, and hitting her face in her mind, the split skin aching even more in her memory.
They had paused too long, and as she turned to put on her seatbelt, she saw a face through the window. Her father’s deranged face stared at her, as he cracked his knuckles. She hit the lock on Ethan’s ancient car with her fist and screamed.
“Damn it, Ethan! Drive!”
“Diana! Get back here, you worthless brat! Listen to me, now. After you get back into the house I don’t want to see you with this boy again; now come and get your ass inside or I’ll make you,” he threatened.
Ethan shouted back at the man, a lifetime of pent-up frustration, in a series of vulgarities that shocked the man enough so that he stepped back, hands lifted, palms out.
He fumbled as he put the car in drive, and stepped on the gas. Diana’s father began screaming, cursing at the couple as Ethan maneuvered his way off her street, without colliding into him, no matter how much he wanted to.
He gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. Taking his eyes off the wintry road, he looked at his bruised, broken girlfriend beside him, her knees curled up into the fetal position. He knew, as he drove recklessly, that he was capable of hatred. The scratch wasn’t very long, but it was deep and very painful-looking. They were only two teenagers, running from their fears, but he knew that they were better on their own, than watching her be torn, standing helplessly to the side.
He slowed as they reached the train station. He pulled into the grocery store, across the street and walked out of the car. He opened the door for Diana and she giggled, “Why, thank you.” Her exaggerated gratefulness only equaled a small part of the gratitude she felt inside. He gave up a whole future to save her from the monstrosities she had to go through. It was priceless.
He grabbed both of their bags, until she playfully beat him to get hers back. “Come on! I owe you enough. At least let me carry my bag!”
Ethan tried to remain chivalrous, but eventually relented, passing the bag to Diana, who had begun shivering as snowdrops began to sprinkle all over her. He held her arm, and they began to speed-walk across the street.
They climbed up the stairs in the station and bought two one-way tickets to New York, where no one could find them, without extensive traveling. They waited by the gap, Diana shuffling on her toes nervously. Would they get caught? What would her father do? What hadn’t he done, anyway? And did it even matter?
The train pulled in, sending her hair flying. The aching in her face was finally beginning to be numbed, and without feeling the reminder of her familial evil on her face, she felt a soothing sense of relief fluttering through her body. When the doors opened, she jumped over the gap, with Ethan following closely behind, showing more reservation in his footing. The train was nearly empty and she picked an open three-person seat. Ethan sat beside her, and she whispered what held them together.
“I love you.”
She stood, half-concealed by the darkness that flooded the house. Her fingers traced the tender bruise on her arm, and she winced. Lights shone from cars as they drove past, but none of them stopped. She looked around, not seeing anything, hoping her parents wouldn’t hear. Then, a light flickered on and off one, two, three times, and Diana knew to step out of the house. She picked up her bag and flung it over her shoulder, stepped outside, and closed the door so lightly that it would be entirely undetected.
Once the interior of the house was insulated from any noise, she ran, sprinted for her life across the frozen grass to the car. She flung the car door open and sat inside, throwing her bag into the backseat, on top of another large duffel.
She looked at Ethan, in the driver’s seat. “Are you sure you wanna do this,” she asked, terrified he would end up kicking her out, to go back into her cold, black, abusive home.
“Oh my God,” Ethan whispered, his hand tracing along the edge of her face. “What the hell happened, Di?”
She ripped his warm hand from her cheek and out it to her lips. “I came home past curfew last night, remember?” They had been plotting this hazardous escape the night before, keeping Diana from making it home on time. She shuddered as she remembered the screaming, the red faces. She relived the vase being thrown through the air, and hitting her face in her mind, the split skin aching even more in her memory.
They had paused too long, and as she turned to put on her seatbelt, she saw a face through the window. Her father’s deranged face stared at her, as he cracked his knuckles. She hit the lock on Ethan’s ancient car with her fist and screamed.
“Damn it, Ethan! Drive!”
“Diana! Get back here, you worthless brat! Listen to me, now. After you get back into the house I don’t want to see you with this boy again; now come and get your ass inside or I’ll make you,” he threatened.
Ethan shouted back at the man, a lifetime of pent-up frustration, in a series of vulgarities that shocked the man enough so that he stepped back, hands lifted, palms out.
He fumbled as he put the car in drive, and stepped on the gas. Diana’s father began screaming, cursing at the couple as Ethan maneuvered his way off her street, without colliding into him, no matter how much he wanted to.
He gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. Taking his eyes off the wintry road, he looked at his bruised, broken girlfriend beside him, her knees curled up into the fetal position. He knew, as he drove recklessly, that he was capable of hatred. The scratch wasn’t very long, but it was deep and very painful-looking. They were only two teenagers, running from their fears, but he knew that they were better on their own, than watching her be torn, standing helplessly to the side.
He slowed as they reached the train station. He pulled into the grocery store, across the street and walked out of the car. He opened the door for Diana and she giggled, “Why, thank you.” Her exaggerated gratefulness only equaled a small part of the gratitude she felt inside. He gave up a whole future to save her from the monstrosities she had to go through. It was priceless.
He grabbed both of their bags, until she playfully beat him to get hers back. “Come on! I owe you enough. At least let me carry my bag!”
Ethan tried to remain chivalrous, but eventually relented, passing the bag to Diana, who had begun shivering as snowdrops began to sprinkle all over her. He held her arm, and they began to speed-walk across the street.
They climbed up the stairs in the station and bought two one-way tickets to New York, where no one could find them, without extensive traveling. They waited by the gap, Diana shuffling on her toes nervously. Would they get caught? What would her father do? What hadn’t he done, anyway? And did it even matter?
The train pulled in, sending her hair flying. The aching in her face was finally beginning to be numbed, and without feeling the reminder of her familial evil on her face, she felt a soothing sense of relief fluttering through her body. When the doors opened, she jumped over the gap, with Ethan following closely behind, showing more reservation in his footing. The train was nearly empty and she picked an open three-person seat. Ethan sat beside her, and she whispered what held them together.
“I love you.”
Monday, December 20, 2010
KIMJA FTW
I'm late, I know, but please, DO forgive me. I've been too in my head lately. I've been freaking about about presents... I just wrote my best friend a Shakespearean sonnet, in almost perfect iambic pentameter. (I'm VERY proud, by the way...)
And my boyfriend's present? It's amazing. And Morgen decided what it should, and did all of the work involved as I handed over the cash to support her project. Ahh, I love her!
But, I wouldn like to state that Kinja has been around for over a year. It started with repetitive posts of poetry my BFFL Jon and I wrote together. Then, I moved on to silly posts about nothing, and most recently I've posted alot of fictional prose I've been doing. When Kimja was started, prose scared me to death, so I hid behind the meaningful/less words of my poetry, which has always been very abstract and elegant.
I've halfway completed a novel, entitled CRAVED and currently am working on another work, my stab at the ridiculous world of romantic YA literature, lossely based on Capote's BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY'S. Because that's my favorite book. Besides A THOUSAND SPLENDID SUNS. WOOT.
The point of this? Nonexistent. I just wanted to celebrate trying to keep up with Kimja. I haven't, I'm sorry. I promise, after my auditions for the musical (Yup, like last year at this time, LOL.) I will come with one of my deepest posts yet, I've been through something kind of terrible recently, and I'm sick of bottling up my feelings.
I just set "anniversary" as a post for this and remembered to say. CONOR REMEMBERED OUR THREE-MONTH. I MADE A BET HE WOULDN'T. WHAT IS WRONG WITH THAT BOY? Oh, wait, he's with me. Nevermind...
And my boyfriend's present? It's amazing. And Morgen decided what it should, and did all of the work involved as I handed over the cash to support her project. Ahh, I love her!
But, I wouldn like to state that Kinja has been around for over a year. It started with repetitive posts of poetry my BFFL Jon and I wrote together. Then, I moved on to silly posts about nothing, and most recently I've posted alot of fictional prose I've been doing. When Kimja was started, prose scared me to death, so I hid behind the meaningful/less words of my poetry, which has always been very abstract and elegant.
I've halfway completed a novel, entitled CRAVED and currently am working on another work, my stab at the ridiculous world of romantic YA literature, lossely based on Capote's BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY'S. Because that's my favorite book. Besides A THOUSAND SPLENDID SUNS. WOOT.
The point of this? Nonexistent. I just wanted to celebrate trying to keep up with Kimja. I haven't, I'm sorry. I promise, after my auditions for the musical (Yup, like last year at this time, LOL.) I will come with one of my deepest posts yet, I've been through something kind of terrible recently, and I'm sick of bottling up my feelings.
I just set "anniversary" as a post for this and remembered to say. CONOR REMEMBERED OUR THREE-MONTH. I MADE A BET HE WOULDN'T. WHAT IS WRONG WITH THAT BOY? Oh, wait, he's with me. Nevermind...
Friday, December 3, 2010
Because I Decided to Write a More "Normal" Story... From a GUY'S POV
She lowered her cigarette as I walked over, and smiled in my direction. Lowering myself onto the bench next to her, I grimaced at her. “Why do you smoke those things?”
Smiling, she turned her back to me, swinging her legs over the arm of the wicker loveseat, and laid her head in my lap. “Maybe I feel glamorous,” she blew a small stream of smoke into my face. “Maybe it relieves my stress.” After taking one last drag, “Maybe, Ethan, I just plain like it.” With that, she blew the rest of the smoke into my face.
Once I was no longer blinded by the gray smoke, I plucked the white stick out of her fingers, dropped it on the floor, and put it out with my foot.
Diana glared at me. She sat up and when her eyes dropped, I lifted her chin, my hands shaking. She looked back into my eyes, hers an impossibly dark navy blue. I ran my index finger along her eyelashes, over clumps of mascara. I rubbed the excess makeup between that finger and my thumb, wondering why she bothered with that crap. I had seen her without makeup a million times, and still she had to hide behind it.
She walked away. I stood up, perplexed until she turned around and gestured for me to walk with her. I walked quickly to catch up with her, and then she started to run away. I ran after her, and we twisted through the park. She stopped at the edge of the pond. The moon reflected into the water, which reflected onto her, turning her hair and eerie black-green.
I made my final lunge and grabbed her hips from behind. She shrieked, twisted from me. She ended up spinning away from me and falling to the ground in a fit of laughter. She sat in the grass, trying to subdue her laughter. I sat with her, watching as her laughter made her cry. Hyperventilating, she looked up at me, and I ran my fist under her eyes, trapping the little drops of hysteria. She looked at me, and I grabbed her hands, stood up and pulled her to her feet. When she was up I wrapped my arm around her waist and we walked home.
We were silent. She stared at the pavement and I stared at her. Her legs were bare and scratched. I worried, but kept my suspicions to myself. Then, she turned her head to look at me and said, “Can I stay over your house?”
My eyes, still on her destroyed legs, said, “Yes.”
I looked back into her eyes, as deep, and about as dark as the sky. “Thanks, Ethan. You’re pretty great, you know. I hope your parents don’t mind.”
I shook my head. “They won’t, you know that.”
“Phew… If I was any other girl, they’d hate me.”
This time, I let my eyes pierce hers. A moment of declaration. “But you aren’t any other girl.”
Hey guys! I’m really falling in love with Ethan and Di, so, tell me, do you like them? I think you should.
Smiling, she turned her back to me, swinging her legs over the arm of the wicker loveseat, and laid her head in my lap. “Maybe I feel glamorous,” she blew a small stream of smoke into my face. “Maybe it relieves my stress.” After taking one last drag, “Maybe, Ethan, I just plain like it.” With that, she blew the rest of the smoke into my face.
Once I was no longer blinded by the gray smoke, I plucked the white stick out of her fingers, dropped it on the floor, and put it out with my foot.
Diana glared at me. She sat up and when her eyes dropped, I lifted her chin, my hands shaking. She looked back into my eyes, hers an impossibly dark navy blue. I ran my index finger along her eyelashes, over clumps of mascara. I rubbed the excess makeup between that finger and my thumb, wondering why she bothered with that crap. I had seen her without makeup a million times, and still she had to hide behind it.
She walked away. I stood up, perplexed until she turned around and gestured for me to walk with her. I walked quickly to catch up with her, and then she started to run away. I ran after her, and we twisted through the park. She stopped at the edge of the pond. The moon reflected into the water, which reflected onto her, turning her hair and eerie black-green.
I made my final lunge and grabbed her hips from behind. She shrieked, twisted from me. She ended up spinning away from me and falling to the ground in a fit of laughter. She sat in the grass, trying to subdue her laughter. I sat with her, watching as her laughter made her cry. Hyperventilating, she looked up at me, and I ran my fist under her eyes, trapping the little drops of hysteria. She looked at me, and I grabbed her hands, stood up and pulled her to her feet. When she was up I wrapped my arm around her waist and we walked home.
We were silent. She stared at the pavement and I stared at her. Her legs were bare and scratched. I worried, but kept my suspicions to myself. Then, she turned her head to look at me and said, “Can I stay over your house?”
My eyes, still on her destroyed legs, said, “Yes.”
I looked back into her eyes, as deep, and about as dark as the sky. “Thanks, Ethan. You’re pretty great, you know. I hope your parents don’t mind.”
I shook my head. “They won’t, you know that.”
“Phew… If I was any other girl, they’d hate me.”
This time, I let my eyes pierce hers. A moment of declaration. “But you aren’t any other girl.”
Hey guys! I’m really falling in love with Ethan and Di, so, tell me, do you like them? I think you should.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
What Are We Coming to, People?
This isn't exactly for random readers on the web. (But you are more than welcome to stay' I think I'll have a good moral here.) It's more to be posted on my Facebook as a huge slap in the face for some of the kids in my school.
Recently, anyone in my grade would know, our Formspring newsfeeds have been clogged with hate. Mostly between two girls, by people who probably shouldn't have a say in the whole situation. But that isn't it. There are people who continuously call an amzing friend of mine gay, much to the utter....infuriation of another bestie. I have an amazing friend who gets bashed for being friendly, and another who did nothing but get a really nice boyfriend who just so happens to be older. I had my own influx of hate for something entirely private about a month ago that got me nearly forty questions in about a week.
Now, I'm fortunate that a good split of those forty were support from my friends. But I know other people aren't so lucky.
WHATEVER. I have one, yes. Am I asking for hate? Maybe I am. Do I appreciate anonymous hate? No. If I have left an anonymous message, it was a GUESS WHO. If you're gonna say something, even if it's through a computer screen, get some guts and let them know who you are. Maybe there are some personality flaws they'd like to inform you of, too. Because we all have some. And, if someone wants you to inbox them, honey, they're letting you reach out to them. If you care enough to wonder about someone's sex life or why they may or may not hate you, you should bother to respond. Because no one can be friends with just 170 characters.
To drag this shit on because our town has no manners, if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all. This is a rule we are taught from infancy onward. We live in a community that is very fortunate, and we need to all encourage each other because we have some amazing oppurtunities.
Also, if you are messing with any of my friends and your identity becomes unconcealed, I will make sure you understand the dificulties they go through on a daily basis. Because very few of my friends are people with amazing lives. Many of them suffer alot on a daily basis.
You have the power to kill someones self-esteem. People who hate, and kill hope and joy in people are the reasons there are so many people with eating disorders, mental "craziness" and self-injury problems. If you tell someone to kill him/herself then they just may. Just because you said it. Do you really wanna let someone else's coffin rest on your conscience.
Love, the weird girl that hits really high notes because she gets bored <33
PS: I do not follow people for trouble. If I follow, I genuinely like you/want to know you better. You are all beautiful people, inside and out, no matter what these immature losers say. Mmkayyy? kthanxbaii
Recently, anyone in my grade would know, our Formspring newsfeeds have been clogged with hate. Mostly between two girls, by people who probably shouldn't have a say in the whole situation. But that isn't it. There are people who continuously call an amzing friend of mine gay, much to the utter....infuriation of another bestie. I have an amazing friend who gets bashed for being friendly, and another who did nothing but get a really nice boyfriend who just so happens to be older. I had my own influx of hate for something entirely private about a month ago that got me nearly forty questions in about a week.
Now, I'm fortunate that a good split of those forty were support from my friends. But I know other people aren't so lucky.
WHATEVER. I have one, yes. Am I asking for hate? Maybe I am. Do I appreciate anonymous hate? No. If I have left an anonymous message, it was a GUESS WHO. If you're gonna say something, even if it's through a computer screen, get some guts and let them know who you are. Maybe there are some personality flaws they'd like to inform you of, too. Because we all have some. And, if someone wants you to inbox them, honey, they're letting you reach out to them. If you care enough to wonder about someone's sex life or why they may or may not hate you, you should bother to respond. Because no one can be friends with just 170 characters.
To drag this shit on because our town has no manners, if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all. This is a rule we are taught from infancy onward. We live in a community that is very fortunate, and we need to all encourage each other because we have some amazing oppurtunities.
Also, if you are messing with any of my friends and your identity becomes unconcealed, I will make sure you understand the dificulties they go through on a daily basis. Because very few of my friends are people with amazing lives. Many of them suffer alot on a daily basis.
You have the power to kill someones self-esteem. People who hate, and kill hope and joy in people are the reasons there are so many people with eating disorders, mental "craziness" and self-injury problems. If you tell someone to kill him/herself then they just may. Just because you said it. Do you really wanna let someone else's coffin rest on your conscience.
Love, the weird girl that hits really high notes because she gets bored <33
PS: I do not follow people for trouble. If I follow, I genuinely like you/want to know you better. You are all beautiful people, inside and out, no matter what these immature losers say. Mmkayyy? kthanxbaii
Monday, November 1, 2010
A Crazy Post About Love
I once heard how "American" it is to have a happy ending. How childish and unrealistic it is to be truly happy at the end of an ordeal. I don't remember where I heard this--maybe it was a book. No, it was almost certainly a book, although I can't imagine what ethnicity the person who said it was.
I find this to be a very true statement. I can't stand Titanic because of it's tragic ending. I never cared for the current parts of that movie. Why distract from the story? Who cares about your god damned diamond?
Haha, I just heard Justin Timberlake yell "HOT DAYUM!"
Then, you have Disney, which changes the endings of their animated movies a lot.
I mean, even music has that. A couple of years ago Taylor Swift's "Love Story" changed the ending of Romeo & Juliet. And, honestly, I liked that idea better. Iconic couples deserve their happy ending. I mean, didn't Cinderella and Prince Charming get it? Many music videos, which are sad love songs, show the couple meeting again, and obviously rekindling their romance. Music breaks rules, too. But then again, it always has...
Then, going further, every redeeming couple, each paired set of kindred spirits deserve a life of happiness, but it so rarely happens. But, of course a happy ending is different to everybody. My personal idea would be a beautiful home, and easy, loving life, and a beautiful, talented family.
Now, some people would say a happy ending is just the couple, for the rest of their lives. And I totally respect that. Now, for some, they'd like to see people love and lose.
But they usually aren't American.
I find this to be a very true statement. I can't stand Titanic because of it's tragic ending. I never cared for the current parts of that movie. Why distract from the story? Who cares about your god damned diamond?
Haha, I just heard Justin Timberlake yell "HOT DAYUM!"
Then, you have Disney, which changes the endings of their animated movies a lot.
I mean, even music has that. A couple of years ago Taylor Swift's "Love Story" changed the ending of Romeo & Juliet. And, honestly, I liked that idea better. Iconic couples deserve their happy ending. I mean, didn't Cinderella and Prince Charming get it? Many music videos, which are sad love songs, show the couple meeting again, and obviously rekindling their romance. Music breaks rules, too. But then again, it always has...
Then, going further, every redeeming couple, each paired set of kindred spirits deserve a life of happiness, but it so rarely happens. But, of course a happy ending is different to everybody. My personal idea would be a beautiful home, and easy, loving life, and a beautiful, talented family.
Now, some people would say a happy ending is just the couple, for the rest of their lives. And I totally respect that. Now, for some, they'd like to see people love and lose.
But they usually aren't American.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Intense Poetry Day
What do I remember of that conversation?
I remember solemn-faced people, morbid talk,
And scrambling for a phone number we’d only need to call once more.
I remember hearing the words “radiation,” and “useless,”
As my mother wrote down information in her
“Notebook of Death.”
I remember my aunt walking in,
Puffy-faced, wet cheeks.
I remember seeing that pain, and tears welled behind my stubborn lids.
I remember her walking to me,
Rubbing my back.
“She’s a fighter, honey. Don’t forget that.”
I remember leaving her house, people whispering with hugs goodbye.
“Text me if you need me.”
“If you need me, call. I’m only twenty minutes away.”
I remember going home, my nose distorted by my crying.
“I’m fine. GO AWAY.”
I woke up this morning, and I was fine.
At least, I remember that you thought so until you read this.
I remember solemn-faced people, morbid talk,
And scrambling for a phone number we’d only need to call once more.
I remember hearing the words “radiation,” and “useless,”
As my mother wrote down information in her
“Notebook of Death.”
I remember my aunt walking in,
Puffy-faced, wet cheeks.
I remember seeing that pain, and tears welled behind my stubborn lids.
I remember her walking to me,
Rubbing my back.
“She’s a fighter, honey. Don’t forget that.”
I remember leaving her house, people whispering with hugs goodbye.
“Text me if you need me.”
“If you need me, call. I’m only twenty minutes away.”
I remember going home, my nose distorted by my crying.
“I’m fine. GO AWAY.”
I woke up this morning, and I was fine.
At least, I remember that you thought so until you read this.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
A Miserable Post
The one thing I managed to garner out of today was that I need to chill out. I mean, I know I'm known for being perky, upbeat, and having an eternal smile (or something like that...) plastered across my face and that is just the problem. I try too hard to go everywhere, be with everyone, be there for everyone, and to do everything I want to do, like being here, Twitter, Facebook, etc, and doing what I have to do, i.e., homework.
But, still, I try to do everything on little to no food, under-hydrated and sleep-deprived. Why do I do it? because I couldn't imagine my life without everything I do. I have a beautiful life, marred only by the fact that I don't take care of myself.
Now, don't worry. This isn't a goodbye to blogging. I'd die (metaphorically, because someone just MIGHT take it seriously) if I permanently stopped blogging.
I'm just feeling thoroughly miserable, due to my own stupidity. :'(
But, still, I try to do everything on little to no food, under-hydrated and sleep-deprived. Why do I do it? because I couldn't imagine my life without everything I do. I have a beautiful life, marred only by the fact that I don't take care of myself.
Now, don't worry. This isn't a goodbye to blogging. I'd die (metaphorically, because someone just MIGHT take it seriously) if I permanently stopped blogging.
I'm just feeling thoroughly miserable, due to my own stupidity. :'(
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
A Thousand Splendid Suns
This is super overdue. A book review on A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini.
This is the best book ever. I mean it. The description, according to Wikipedia is "It focuses on the tumultuous lives of two Afghan women and how their lives cross each other, spanning from the 1960s to 2003."
I cannot do this book justice with a review. I cannot describe this book and make it sound as amazing as it is.
This book is told by adding humans, lives, to the...changing Afghan government. It shows the little things in people's lives, like the "Titanic" fever that spread over the city of Kabul in the 1990's, and gave a heart to people that the rest of world seems to have forgotten.
I learned more from it than I ever have from any other book. Ever. I learned how to say shut up in Farsi (Chup ko) and about the Afghan government. I learned about the culture, and the clothing (not as restrictive as you'd think, due to stereotypes!).
This is the best book ever. I mean it. The description, according to Wikipedia is "It focuses on the tumultuous lives of two Afghan women and how their lives cross each other, spanning from the 1960s to 2003."
I cannot do this book justice with a review. I cannot describe this book and make it sound as amazing as it is.
This book is told by adding humans, lives, to the...changing Afghan government. It shows the little things in people's lives, like the "Titanic" fever that spread over the city of Kabul in the 1990's, and gave a heart to people that the rest of world seems to have forgotten.
I learned more from it than I ever have from any other book. Ever. I learned how to say shut up in Farsi (Chup ko) and about the Afghan government. I learned about the culture, and the clothing (not as restrictive as you'd think, due to stereotypes!).
Monday, October 25, 2010
Everything (101)
To begin, this is my 101st blog post. I'm proud of me. And I'm very thankful for everyone who makes my small appearance on the internet seem worth it.
But I've been neglecting this, or just putting up things for my English class, like poems, short stories, etc. Maybe it's because people only write about what really matter to them? Well, I don't know what I stand for. I support gay rights, but I'm not an activist. I hate sexism, but wouldn't consider myself a feminist. I'm not much of anything. I'm a little bit of everything.
My whole life, I've discovered, is going to drama, singing, living for the bell at the end of the day, kissing my boyfriend goodbye everyday. I'm just like anybody else, besides randomly breaking out into song. And I'm scared of it. But also, I'm scared to be unique. Unique where I'm from is a death wish. And, the thing is, I'm too into normal to be TOTALLY unique.
And I've never been happier. If you know me personally, don't even bother thinking why. It monopolizes my every thought. :P
I'm pathetic.
However, I'm in love with our play. The Canterbury Tales. It's a...parody? Satire? I think the word is satire. I have a friend who says it appeals to her to do things like drama VERY MUCH, but she's scared of falling in love with acting, as she believes she can't do it because of certain circumstances. I say, go for it. We're fourteen, just beginning our high school careers. This, early on, is the time to fall in love, and have our hearts broken. There are hundreds of people who manage to make small, but manageable careers of acting. If there's a reason one would never be considered for a lead role, then guess what? Supporting characters are the ones that are the most overlooked, because no one wants to "support." They want to lead. Then, we always have our ensembles.
Just letting everyone know there's no reason to be dissuaded. But, she already has a sure course of action after we finish here at SFH (School From Hell). I'm worried about that. I can't think of anything I would wanna do besides... (hold the laughter) singing. And I've told so many people, I could never do that, it's not practical.
But who said dreams were practical?
Now I'm sad. I should go.
But I've been neglecting this, or just putting up things for my English class, like poems, short stories, etc. Maybe it's because people only write about what really matter to them? Well, I don't know what I stand for. I support gay rights, but I'm not an activist. I hate sexism, but wouldn't consider myself a feminist. I'm not much of anything. I'm a little bit of everything.
My whole life, I've discovered, is going to drama, singing, living for the bell at the end of the day, kissing my boyfriend goodbye everyday. I'm just like anybody else, besides randomly breaking out into song. And I'm scared of it. But also, I'm scared to be unique. Unique where I'm from is a death wish. And, the thing is, I'm too into normal to be TOTALLY unique.
And I've never been happier. If you know me personally, don't even bother thinking why. It monopolizes my every thought. :P
I'm pathetic.
However, I'm in love with our play. The Canterbury Tales. It's a...parody? Satire? I think the word is satire. I have a friend who says it appeals to her to do things like drama VERY MUCH, but she's scared of falling in love with acting, as she believes she can't do it because of certain circumstances. I say, go for it. We're fourteen, just beginning our high school careers. This, early on, is the time to fall in love, and have our hearts broken. There are hundreds of people who manage to make small, but manageable careers of acting. If there's a reason one would never be considered for a lead role, then guess what? Supporting characters are the ones that are the most overlooked, because no one wants to "support." They want to lead. Then, we always have our ensembles.
Just letting everyone know there's no reason to be dissuaded. But, she already has a sure course of action after we finish here at SFH (School From Hell). I'm worried about that. I can't think of anything I would wanna do besides... (hold the laughter) singing. And I've told so many people, I could never do that, it's not practical.
But who said dreams were practical?
Now I'm sad. I should go.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Realities (A Short Story by Yours Truly)
A little bit o' fiction for y'all. For those who have read it, no need to stay. For those who have not, please enjoy!
I watched as she slept, my otherworldly glow illuminating various parts of the room as I slowly twirled on the plain black swivel chair. I stopped, facing the bed and saw her navy eyes ice over, and stare into me. I cringed from the possessed look on her face.
“Why are you here? Go away! I hate you! You left me, all alone, you know. You went crazy and Mom and Dad got me the shrink. I don’t know you. I never have!” The judgment in her venomous words sunk through my non-skin. She over my non-body. Her eyes, once a velvet midnight, now a haunting midnight, scanned my arms and she sneered at me. “Nice to see you aren’t mutilated on this plane of existence. It was a lovely way I found you, huh? Drowned in yourself in the bathtub, what a lovely sight! Wouldn’t you think so, hon?” Her voice cracked on the endearment and she turned from me, or, rather, my ominous, ghostly glow. She covered her face with a lace-edged pillow, and I knew she was crying.
“Kirsten,” I said as I reached out towards her. “Listen for a second,” and I was cut off. Not by my tearful sister, or myself, but both us. A string had been cut, I could tell when my passed right through her shoulder. I wanted to explain my craziness, thoughts, actions. I had to get them all out of me, but couldn’t. Time had run out. I couldn’t pat her cheek, kiss her hair, hug her good-bye. I was being taken away, and had to be saved. However, she was on the other end of desperation: all-consuming anger. So, I screamed for her.
I screamed.
I screamed, grabbing the plastic arms of the lawn chair I was sitting in. My eyes rolled over the room I was in. It was on wheels, a trailer attached to a car, all painted to look clownish and foreign. I was trembling in my seat. I recalled walking into the trailer, weighed down by my misery. I had dropped a bill into an ornate box, cradling the cash of all the woman’s other costumers. I had whispered my evil question, and she stroked my cheek, before grabbing my jaw and pouring a strange liquid with no taste or smell in my mouth. I remembered letting the harmless liquid slide down the throat, and being pinned to the chair, not feeling anything, and my eyelids drooping…
I stared at the woman. She was closing a large cabinet and she turned around. She looked at me, her red eyes rimmed in the thickest eyeliner I had ever seen. The strange-colored eyes looked mysterious and beautiful. I knew I looked like a zombie, and rubbed at my eyes.
The woman approached me and spoke. “I told you, girl, that I could answer any question. Did I, for you?” I was still pinned to the chair, and didn’t answer. She leaned in front of my face and “Do you know why you are alive?”
I cringed and nodded, tracing the scars on one arm. For a moment, she watched with a foreign mask plastered She then grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the chair with surprising strength and roughness. “You must go. There are people waiting for us both,” and I left.
I pushed out of the trailer blindly, and nodded at the middle-aged woman who was next. She twiddled her fingers, and looked at me, asking a question. I didn’t have a magic like the woman in there, but as I nodded, I knew I had answered it right. She stepped in quickly, and the wind began to toss my hair.
I saw her, sitting, leaning against a tree about five yards from the trailer, drowning out the world with her headphones. I walked to her and poked her with the tip of my boot. She looked up, ripping the earbuds out of her ears. “Dia! Did she cheat you?”
I shook my head, smiling. I told her, as I pulled my sleeves over my wrists. “Silly girl, she’s no joke,” humor left my face as I told her, “She can answer any question. Even the ones you’re too afraid to ask.”
She looked at me, at my pulled sleeves, and a glaze was painted from the pupils, beyond the whites of her eyes. Even her eyelashes went out straight. “I hope she gave you the right answer,” Kirsten whispered.
“She did.”
I watched as she slept, my otherworldly glow illuminating various parts of the room as I slowly twirled on the plain black swivel chair. I stopped, facing the bed and saw her navy eyes ice over, and stare into me. I cringed from the possessed look on her face.
“Why are you here? Go away! I hate you! You left me, all alone, you know. You went crazy and Mom and Dad got me the shrink. I don’t know you. I never have!” The judgment in her venomous words sunk through my non-skin. She over my non-body. Her eyes, once a velvet midnight, now a haunting midnight, scanned my arms and she sneered at me. “Nice to see you aren’t mutilated on this plane of existence. It was a lovely way I found you, huh? Drowned in yourself in the bathtub, what a lovely sight! Wouldn’t you think so, hon?” Her voice cracked on the endearment and she turned from me, or, rather, my ominous, ghostly glow. She covered her face with a lace-edged pillow, and I knew she was crying.
“Kirsten,” I said as I reached out towards her. “Listen for a second,” and I was cut off. Not by my tearful sister, or myself, but both us. A string had been cut, I could tell when my passed right through her shoulder. I wanted to explain my craziness, thoughts, actions. I had to get them all out of me, but couldn’t. Time had run out. I couldn’t pat her cheek, kiss her hair, hug her good-bye. I was being taken away, and had to be saved. However, she was on the other end of desperation: all-consuming anger. So, I screamed for her.
I screamed.
I screamed, grabbing the plastic arms of the lawn chair I was sitting in. My eyes rolled over the room I was in. It was on wheels, a trailer attached to a car, all painted to look clownish and foreign. I was trembling in my seat. I recalled walking into the trailer, weighed down by my misery. I had dropped a bill into an ornate box, cradling the cash of all the woman’s other costumers. I had whispered my evil question, and she stroked my cheek, before grabbing my jaw and pouring a strange liquid with no taste or smell in my mouth. I remembered letting the harmless liquid slide down the throat, and being pinned to the chair, not feeling anything, and my eyelids drooping…
I stared at the woman. She was closing a large cabinet and she turned around. She looked at me, her red eyes rimmed in the thickest eyeliner I had ever seen. The strange-colored eyes looked mysterious and beautiful. I knew I looked like a zombie, and rubbed at my eyes.
The woman approached me and spoke. “I told you, girl, that I could answer any question. Did I, for you?” I was still pinned to the chair, and didn’t answer. She leaned in front of my face and “Do you know why you are alive?”
I cringed and nodded, tracing the scars on one arm. For a moment, she watched with a foreign mask plastered She then grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the chair with surprising strength and roughness. “You must go. There are people waiting for us both,” and I left.
I pushed out of the trailer blindly, and nodded at the middle-aged woman who was next. She twiddled her fingers, and looked at me, asking a question. I didn’t have a magic like the woman in there, but as I nodded, I knew I had answered it right. She stepped in quickly, and the wind began to toss my hair.
I saw her, sitting, leaning against a tree about five yards from the trailer, drowning out the world with her headphones. I walked to her and poked her with the tip of my boot. She looked up, ripping the earbuds out of her ears. “Dia! Did she cheat you?”
I shook my head, smiling. I told her, as I pulled my sleeves over my wrists. “Silly girl, she’s no joke,” humor left my face as I told her, “She can answer any question. Even the ones you’re too afraid to ask.”
She looked at me, at my pulled sleeves, and a glaze was painted from the pupils, beyond the whites of her eyes. Even her eyelashes went out straight. “I hope she gave you the right answer,” Kirsten whispered.
“She did.”
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
A Childhood Favorite
Last night, my good friend RICHARD and I started planning a Disney Movie Marathon, including some of our closest buds. Everybody is totally psyched to actually do this. (Except, ironically, my boyfriend...) I was wondering why, so I decided to analyze why I love Disney movies.
1) The hand-drawn animations. Yes, I was talking before CGI. There's something so much more child-friendly about something that wasn't made on a computer. 2-D is far too underrated. Besides, the little creatures are cuter. Think I'm wrong? Go watch any Universal Studios movie, and then go watch Snow White.
2) They give classic stories another chance in the spotlight. Snow White, Aladdin, The Little Mermaid, Mulan, Sleeping Beauty, Beauty and the Beast, you name it, they're all very old stories. many are centuries-old, others have passed more than one millennium. Obviously, most prevalent in Hercules, the stories are cleaned up to meet the Disney standard everyone is so aware of. As these are movies for young children, I see no problem in censoring it. Little kids shouldn't have to learn the ugly truth before they have to.
3) The music. Did you know that the guy who wrote the music for The Phantom of the Opera also wrote the music for Pocahontas? (Andrew Lloyd Webber, BTW!) It is sophisticated music with amazing lyrics. Maybe, as a singer I'm biased, but they actually hire(d) amazing singers that can do both pop, musical theater, and opera. SOPRANOS FTW!
4)They create a standard. I heard about a mother that refused to let her daughters watch the Princess Movies because of the unrealistic standards they project in Prince Charming. Well, AHEM, if I prefer Prince Eric, who is very gullible, and Prince Phillip, who is basically perfect, then I can do so. I see her point though, and no one wants their child to be disappointed with what life has given them. I imagine, if I was a parent, nothing would break my heart more. On the other end of the spectrum, high standards will keep anybody from settling for someone who doesn't treat them well. And, let's be honest, a little fantasy is what makes the world spin. If no one thought, no one would have any action. That mother should know that the standards of her children are taught by how they are raised, and how they are treated in their home. DURR
I always cry at the of The Little Mermaid. I can't remember all of the great movies. These are conversation starters. I am comment-desperate. PLEASE.
1) The hand-drawn animations. Yes, I was talking before CGI. There's something so much more child-friendly about something that wasn't made on a computer. 2-D is far too underrated. Besides, the little creatures are cuter. Think I'm wrong? Go watch any Universal Studios movie, and then go watch Snow White.
2) They give classic stories another chance in the spotlight. Snow White, Aladdin, The Little Mermaid, Mulan, Sleeping Beauty, Beauty and the Beast, you name it, they're all very old stories. many are centuries-old, others have passed more than one millennium. Obviously, most prevalent in Hercules, the stories are cleaned up to meet the Disney standard everyone is so aware of. As these are movies for young children, I see no problem in censoring it. Little kids shouldn't have to learn the ugly truth before they have to.
3) The music. Did you know that the guy who wrote the music for The Phantom of the Opera also wrote the music for Pocahontas? (Andrew Lloyd Webber, BTW!) It is sophisticated music with amazing lyrics. Maybe, as a singer I'm biased, but they actually hire(d) amazing singers that can do both pop, musical theater, and opera. SOPRANOS FTW!
4)They create a standard. I heard about a mother that refused to let her daughters watch the Princess Movies because of the unrealistic standards they project in Prince Charming. Well, AHEM, if I prefer Prince Eric, who is very gullible, and Prince Phillip, who is basically perfect, then I can do so. I see her point though, and no one wants their child to be disappointed with what life has given them. I imagine, if I was a parent, nothing would break my heart more. On the other end of the spectrum, high standards will keep anybody from settling for someone who doesn't treat them well. And, let's be honest, a little fantasy is what makes the world spin. If no one thought, no one would have any action. That mother should know that the standards of her children are taught by how they are raised, and how they are treated in their home. DURR
I always cry at the of The Little Mermaid. I can't remember all of the great movies. These are conversation starters. I am comment-desperate. PLEASE.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Because I Love This Site So Damn Much
Kim
The only woman that will bring chuck norris to his knees
Nadine
The Most Beautiful thing in the whole world ! , God Was Amased That he made a girl so beautiful
Sam
sam is a very common name. it is usually given to people who are very cool indeed. people by the name sam are the greatest.
Ricky
he male equivalent of a Flo. A loudmouth redneck that turns obnoxious and wants to fight once he has had any alcohol. He starts fights but if someone busts his hole, he immediately starts spouting Oh God, and gets religious because he thinks he’s about to die. Someone you would want to beat to death with a plastic thermos.
Plague Rat
A hardcore fan of the musician Emilie Autumn. Not to be confused with a Muffin, who is a less active fan of her music. They can often be found wearing corsets, drinking tea, crafting, or "spreading the Plague" aka advertising Miss Autumn's music to the world. The also refer to themselves as inmates in "The Asylum"
Emilie Autumn: What time is it, Muffins?
Just normal muffins/fans: ...?
Plague Rats: TEA TIME!
Mallory
A crazy girl that appears to be drunk about 99% of the time. As she's sleeping in the middle of the night, she sits up like shes under demon possession and screams loudly for hours! She is one of the craziest people you will ever meet
Now, as he had the most numerous, and most hilarious amount of these, I hereby dedicate this next part to my boyfriend.
CONOR
someone who is the man
conor invented sombreos
Conor once ate an entire watermelon, including the seeds, then grew an entire watermelon patch in his stomach which fed eleven families for six weeks.
If you were to know conors' true name, your mind would collapse upon itself.
a beast at everything
and really funny
a hippie who enjoys smoking weed and has sex
a person who has 3 of something that most people would only usually have two. for example a third eye, a third ear or a third nipple. conor's would most commonly have a third leg.
A traditional Irish name which means "Of high desire."
conor: gayish tendencies..but not quite..
conor appears to be meterosexual..
Person 1: Man, why does Conor work at Pizza Hut
Person 2: I don't know but he's still awesome
Person 1: Hell yeah
Someone who is a dick and who does not deserve to have such an awesome girlfriend
I think this all speaks for itself.
And, yes, this is Urban Dictionary. Yes, I will ow leave to read the bajillion pages on Chuck Norris.
The only woman that will bring chuck norris to his knees
Nadine
The Most Beautiful thing in the whole world ! , God Was Amased That he made a girl so beautiful
Sam
sam is a very common name. it is usually given to people who are very cool indeed. people by the name sam are the greatest.
Ricky
he male equivalent of a Flo. A loudmouth redneck that turns obnoxious and wants to fight once he has had any alcohol. He starts fights but if someone busts his hole, he immediately starts spouting Oh God, and gets religious because he thinks he’s about to die. Someone you would want to beat to death with a plastic thermos.
Plague Rat
A hardcore fan of the musician Emilie Autumn. Not to be confused with a Muffin, who is a less active fan of her music. They can often be found wearing corsets, drinking tea, crafting, or "spreading the Plague" aka advertising Miss Autumn's music to the world. The also refer to themselves as inmates in "The Asylum"
Emilie Autumn: What time is it, Muffins?
Just normal muffins/fans: ...?
Plague Rats: TEA TIME!
Mallory
A crazy girl that appears to be drunk about 99% of the time. As she's sleeping in the middle of the night, she sits up like shes under demon possession and screams loudly for hours! She is one of the craziest people you will ever meet
Now, as he had the most numerous, and most hilarious amount of these, I hereby dedicate this next part to my boyfriend.
CONOR
someone who is the man
conor invented sombreos
Conor once ate an entire watermelon, including the seeds, then grew an entire watermelon patch in his stomach which fed eleven families for six weeks.
If you were to know conors' true name, your mind would collapse upon itself.
a beast at everything
and really funny
a hippie who enjoys smoking weed and has sex
a person who has 3 of something that most people would only usually have two. for example a third eye, a third ear or a third nipple. conor's would most commonly have a third leg.
A traditional Irish name which means "Of high desire."
conor: gayish tendencies..but not quite..
conor appears to be meterosexual..
Person 1: Man, why does Conor work at Pizza Hut
Person 2: I don't know but he's still awesome
Person 1: Hell yeah
Someone who is a dick and who does not deserve to have such an awesome girlfriend
I think this all speaks for itself.
And, yes, this is Urban Dictionary. Yes, I will ow leave to read the bajillion pages on Chuck Norris.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
An Awful Fall Poem. Don't Be TOO Cruel!!
Trees shed their hides,
basking, fully themselves, in this sun.
The air bites their bark,
Their branches swing more freely.
The leaves congregate on the ground,
piling up, scrunching together,
in the yard, and along the side of the road.
Flying through breezes.
I sit on the window seat,
looking out at a world in a snow globe
Everything's falling
down.
*braces self for hate*
basking, fully themselves, in this sun.
The air bites their bark,
Their branches swing more freely.
The leaves congregate on the ground,
piling up, scrunching together,
in the yard, and along the side of the road.
Flying through breezes.
I sit on the window seat,
looking out at a world in a snow globe
Everything's falling
down.
*braces self for hate*
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Like the Word "Brotherly" Didn't Tell You...
He sits, alone, in his room,
For endless hours.
And I’ve never worried about
Whether or not he’s sad;
His ridiculous laugh, snorts
Through the walls, into my room.
I hear him talk into those headphones
Through the dead of the night.
He sits, jealous, in the backseat,
Because I got shotgun.
But I never thought that he’d
Actually get mad.
Hands stretching around the headrest,
Ready to break my nose,
My voice rising to a shriek
As a crack comes from my face.
He sits, glaring, across the room,
For endless hours.
I’m only worried about
Whether or not he’ll attack.
His eyebrows squishing
Together over his brown eyes.
I see him staring,
Chills running through me.
I sit, alone, in my room,
For endless hours.
I’m worried about it all,
And so sad I’m tearing up.
Suddenly, the game stopped.
He came in
And gave me
A brotherly hug.
Mr. G had better like this. It's fo' English Class
And NerdySam, way to steal my idea, betch.
For endless hours.
And I’ve never worried about
Whether or not he’s sad;
His ridiculous laugh, snorts
Through the walls, into my room.
I hear him talk into those headphones
Through the dead of the night.
He sits, jealous, in the backseat,
Because I got shotgun.
But I never thought that he’d
Actually get mad.
Hands stretching around the headrest,
Ready to break my nose,
My voice rising to a shriek
As a crack comes from my face.
He sits, glaring, across the room,
For endless hours.
I’m only worried about
Whether or not he’ll attack.
His eyebrows squishing
Together over his brown eyes.
I see him staring,
Chills running through me.
I sit, alone, in my room,
For endless hours.
I’m worried about it all,
And so sad I’m tearing up.
Suddenly, the game stopped.
He came in
And gave me
A brotherly hug.
Mr. G had better like this. It's fo' English Class
And NerdySam, way to steal my idea, betch.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Teaser Tuesday [2] #thecraved
Why would you do that? The spinet is mine, you told me! It was for this room, but it was mine! Just because you have other children doesn’t mean you let me get brushed under the carpet like dust, forgotten about while pests,” she spat the word through clenched teeth, hissing, spit spraying out in microscopic drops--”go through the things I prize. My life.”
Norah Camberlo looked at her daughter, pleasant and adoring expressions done with, her forehead pulling together. “The spinet is ours. We share in the music. The house has been so quiet with you gone. You have not, at all, been forgotten. We’ve missed you horribly. Your sister wanted to sit on the stool because she wanted to channel her big sister.”
It isn’t right.” Spoken in a childish voice, unsure. Mallory felt her hair, bristly ends sticking out of her bun. She yanked the elastic out, letting the damaged mane fall down like straw, bristly ends scratching her chin.
“Not right? The not right thing is giving up your childhood for an instrument. I know that adapting to being with other people was more difficult than you would ever be willing to admit to us. You are obsessed. It isn’t healthy. You don’t treat others like human, and you focus solely on that.” Cocking her head, she offered a meeting point, halfway between her desperation for normalcy, and her daughter, who was already farther away than imagined. “You father and I have talked for a very long time. We want you to speak with a professional because we think you have Asperger’s.”
Mallory’s fishy eyes narrowed at her mother. “I am NOT crazy.” Her mother opened her mouth to speak, but Mallory gave a look that lacked sanity, despite her argument. She, she just couldn’t take that. The idea of judgments from the people who never looked at her.
She walked out, and clomped up the stairs, not thinking that she would wake the other girls. She stepped into her tiny room and turned on the light. A figure was on the bed.
For the fist moment Mallory gasped until she saw her follow-up prodigy on the bed, a strained look on her childish face, sitting criss-cross-applesauce.
“What are you doing here?”
Norah Camberlo looked at her daughter, pleasant and adoring expressions done with, her forehead pulling together. “The spinet is ours. We share in the music. The house has been so quiet with you gone. You have not, at all, been forgotten. We’ve missed you horribly. Your sister wanted to sit on the stool because she wanted to channel her big sister.”
It isn’t right.” Spoken in a childish voice, unsure. Mallory felt her hair, bristly ends sticking out of her bun. She yanked the elastic out, letting the damaged mane fall down like straw, bristly ends scratching her chin.
“Not right? The not right thing is giving up your childhood for an instrument. I know that adapting to being with other people was more difficult than you would ever be willing to admit to us. You are obsessed. It isn’t healthy. You don’t treat others like human, and you focus solely on that.” Cocking her head, she offered a meeting point, halfway between her desperation for normalcy, and her daughter, who was already farther away than imagined. “You father and I have talked for a very long time. We want you to speak with a professional because we think you have Asperger’s.”
Mallory’s fishy eyes narrowed at her mother. “I am NOT crazy.” Her mother opened her mouth to speak, but Mallory gave a look that lacked sanity, despite her argument. She, she just couldn’t take that. The idea of judgments from the people who never looked at her.
She walked out, and clomped up the stairs, not thinking that she would wake the other girls. She stepped into her tiny room and turned on the light. A figure was on the bed.
For the fist moment Mallory gasped until she saw her follow-up prodigy on the bed, a strained look on her childish face, sitting criss-cross-applesauce.
“What are you doing here?”
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Teaser Tuesday [1] #thecraved
So, I am doing yet another teaser for you guys! I think I'll do this every Tuesday, simply for motivation to actually write. I haven't sat down and written a few K in soo long. I am a hideous author. *cowers from good-author judgement*
So, here you go. Yet another piece of CRAVED...
Her life had always seemed like it was drowning in injustice; she often compared herself to Nannerl Mozart, the one who was always more talented, yet because of her standing in life, her gender, she received less recognition. No one seemed to truly appreciate her for her genius. Her younger sisters, the Wolfgangs, were appreciated for things she had already done and rewarded five times over.
She was not just the elder Mozart, she had suffered the unending trials of most every angst-ridden pianist and composer.
She was Beethoven’s childhood piano-based abuse, under the unmerciful stare of his father, she had walked through a harsh road to reach her education like Bach, and, not known to her at that heated moment in the cafeteria, she would face a troublesome affair, like Debussy, though no one else would refer to it as such.
The plate, which had been filled with nothing but a small tong-ful of French fries was emptied and she dropped the tray off, and watched it go through the little flaps towards the dishwasher. As Mallory walked out, she thought, God, why didn’t you put me with the angels, where I actually belong? I am a martyr, as misunderstood as human life comes, I’ll just end up dying for the piano…Too bad it can’t be a friend to me.
Later, she would realize, it was always her only one.
So, here you go. Yet another piece of CRAVED...
Her life had always seemed like it was drowning in injustice; she often compared herself to Nannerl Mozart, the one who was always more talented, yet because of her standing in life, her gender, she received less recognition. No one seemed to truly appreciate her for her genius. Her younger sisters, the Wolfgangs, were appreciated for things she had already done and rewarded five times over.
She was not just the elder Mozart, she had suffered the unending trials of most every angst-ridden pianist and composer.
She was Beethoven’s childhood piano-based abuse, under the unmerciful stare of his father, she had walked through a harsh road to reach her education like Bach, and, not known to her at that heated moment in the cafeteria, she would face a troublesome affair, like Debussy, though no one else would refer to it as such.
The plate, which had been filled with nothing but a small tong-ful of French fries was emptied and she dropped the tray off, and watched it go through the little flaps towards the dishwasher. As Mallory walked out, she thought, God, why didn’t you put me with the angels, where I actually belong? I am a martyr, as misunderstood as human life comes, I’ll just end up dying for the piano…Too bad it can’t be a friend to me.
Later, she would realize, it was always her only one.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Saturday, September 25, 2010
The Little Things
Yesterday a surprise party was thrown for my good friend Dine Dine. (MWAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHHAHAHA) And just seeing how excited she was made me so ridiculously happy. So I decided to do a post on the little things in life that make me smile.
1) A hug. But not just any hug. The RIGHT kind of hug. I'd tell you how that works, but then someone *AHEM, AHEM* would take it as a hint to someone else. (And yes, Dini, I know what you're thinking.)
2)A comment: Yes, we bloggers love a comment once in a while. No. We ALWAYS want a comment. It makes us feel like people care about what we are thinking. And, honestly, I'd leave more comments if I was signed in when I read other people's blogs.
3) A good picture of myself: These are few and far in between. I almost always manage to look like crap in pictures. THIS IS WHY I TRY TO NOT SMILE IN PICTURES! I'M PRETTIER WITH A POUTY FACE!!!
4) A good dream: These are also rare. I'm one of those people who, since early childhood could never have/remember a dream. But lately, as my mind is very focused on one thing at a time, I have dreams about stuff. For example, I recently had a dream about Nadine's surprise party. Of course, that dream was interrupted by something else, but I shan't go into that.
5) A good outfit: The kind that isn't just "cute." The kind that makes you strut out of the house feeling like a million bucks. Your hair looks great and your makeup is flattering, fresh and dewy. Basically, a gorgeous day where you're grinning from ear to ear, rather than going, OKAYIMACCEPTABLEGOTTAGOBYEE. You don't look in the mirror to criticize, but to admire your lovely self. Because a confident morning is an awesome morning.
So, those are a few little pleasures. I hope you find something little that makes you smile today. :)
1) A hug. But not just any hug. The RIGHT kind of hug. I'd tell you how that works, but then someone *AHEM, AHEM* would take it as a hint to someone else. (And yes, Dini, I know what you're thinking.)
2)A comment: Yes, we bloggers love a comment once in a while. No. We ALWAYS want a comment. It makes us feel like people care about what we are thinking. And, honestly, I'd leave more comments if I was signed in when I read other people's blogs.
3) A good picture of myself: These are few and far in between. I almost always manage to look like crap in pictures. THIS IS WHY I TRY TO NOT SMILE IN PICTURES! I'M PRETTIER WITH A POUTY FACE!!!
4) A good dream: These are also rare. I'm one of those people who, since early childhood could never have/remember a dream. But lately, as my mind is very focused on one thing at a time, I have dreams about stuff. For example, I recently had a dream about Nadine's surprise party. Of course, that dream was interrupted by something else, but I shan't go into that.
5) A good outfit: The kind that isn't just "cute." The kind that makes you strut out of the house feeling like a million bucks. Your hair looks great and your makeup is flattering, fresh and dewy. Basically, a gorgeous day where you're grinning from ear to ear, rather than going, OKAYIMACCEPTABLEGOTTAGOBYEE. You don't look in the mirror to criticize, but to admire your lovely self. Because a confident morning is an awesome morning.
So, those are a few little pleasures. I hope you find something little that makes you smile today. :)
Monday, September 20, 2010
Speak Loudly...For Everyone Who Needs You To
I thought, when I made this blog, that I would be able to avoid anything having to due with my own, umm, intimate life... But, right now, I don't care. Yes, I'm a fourteen year old girl, a MINOR, and if any adult wants to get creepy with this, then shove your ass right into prison.
A professor, Wesley Scroggins, from MO, wanted to ban the book SPEAK, along with two others in a public school. His argument was that SPEAK, with it's two rapes scenes. was "soft pornography."
One word: EW. Pron, by definition, is meant to, well, turn you on. If, as a grown man, a young girl turns you on, you need help. If, at any age, rape turns you on, you need help. To put them both together is horrifying.
He is, no offense intended, an uber-Christian. That's great, that he expresses what he believes religiously, but he's working to ban SPEAK in a PUBLIC SCHOOL. I don't care if you;re Christian, Catholic, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, atheistic, agnostic, polytheistic or Scientologist. You have no right to voice your opinion about religion in a public school. That's why it's public; it's for EVERYONE.
Now, this man is saying that sexual exploitation is something to be ashamed of. To feel dirty and keep hushed, alone. I'm freaked out to type this, but when I was little something happened to me. Not what a few people are thinking. While it wasn't rape, or anything like that, it's not...good.
It's been repressed almost completely; I didn't even remember when I first saw this hype. THAT repressed. But I never had the courage to speak up; and no one will listen anyway. I've decided it's too late for me. I can deal on my own. I think I've done pretty well. So, don't worry about me, but just keep Speaking Loudly.
♥
A professor, Wesley Scroggins, from MO, wanted to ban the book SPEAK, along with two others in a public school. His argument was that SPEAK, with it's two rapes scenes. was "soft pornography."
One word: EW. Pron, by definition, is meant to, well, turn you on. If, as a grown man, a young girl turns you on, you need help. If, at any age, rape turns you on, you need help. To put them both together is horrifying.
He is, no offense intended, an uber-Christian. That's great, that he expresses what he believes religiously, but he's working to ban SPEAK in a PUBLIC SCHOOL. I don't care if you;re Christian, Catholic, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, atheistic, agnostic, polytheistic or Scientologist. You have no right to voice your opinion about religion in a public school. That's why it's public; it's for EVERYONE.
Now, this man is saying that sexual exploitation is something to be ashamed of. To feel dirty and keep hushed, alone. I'm freaked out to type this, but when I was little something happened to me. Not what a few people are thinking. While it wasn't rape, or anything like that, it's not...good.
It's been repressed almost completely; I didn't even remember when I first saw this hype. THAT repressed. But I never had the courage to speak up; and no one will listen anyway. I've decided it's too late for me. I can deal on my own. I think I've done pretty well. So, don't worry about me, but just keep Speaking Loudly.
♥
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Day 3!!!
Today is a picture of you and your friends. I have a good amount of close friends that I can turn to, but for different things. Some are school, some are home/neighborhood...So, I'll just give you a brief look...
These were my Hollins girls this summer. In the tie-dye is Tina. Next to that is me. Punching the air is Charlotte, and Kim is eating her fist. Hidden by Kim's head is Elizabeth, WHO MIGHT COME AND VISIT!! Then there's Sarah, Haley, Katelyn, Molly, Sam (PHANTOM BUDDY!), Erin, Maria, and Nicole!
This is Ricky, one of my best guy friends. He looks better than me in this picture, which bothers me. But I will let it go because I love him.
This is VINTAGE. T'is Nicholas, the brother. And, indeed, I am the girl he is giving a piggy-back. Because we're cool like that. Is it weird that I count my brother as a friend? Probably...
Katie, the sweetest girl ever, Aneta, the most FUN person ever, me, Elise. It was wet, and rainy. And we are on a playground. PWN
That's me and Sofia, on a scooter. I love Sofia because she's ridiculously fun...She's the one I go to for girl time, and for a reality check. Really, she can manage teenage-girl reality checks. She's only 12, but she can really handle herself better than me. Meaning, she's more likely to get a boyfriend after two weeks than I am after pining for six months. FML. I love you, Sofia.
This is my best friend, Morgen, of over ten years. I love her because she's everything I need her to be. She can listen, laugh, and be tolerant of very weird things. She's been making me dinner for half of my life, and I couldn't imagine growing up without her. She the first person I call when I'm upset in the middle of the night, and is the only one I'll listen to for...a lot.
These were my Hollins girls this summer. In the tie-dye is Tina. Next to that is me. Punching the air is Charlotte, and Kim is eating her fist. Hidden by Kim's head is Elizabeth, WHO MIGHT COME AND VISIT!! Then there's Sarah, Haley, Katelyn, Molly, Sam (PHANTOM BUDDY!), Erin, Maria, and Nicole!
This is Ricky, one of my best guy friends. He looks better than me in this picture, which bothers me. But I will let it go because I love him.
This is VINTAGE. T'is Nicholas, the brother. And, indeed, I am the girl he is giving a piggy-back. Because we're cool like that. Is it weird that I count my brother as a friend? Probably...
Katie, the sweetest girl ever, Aneta, the most FUN person ever, me, Elise. It was wet, and rainy. And we are on a playground. PWN
That's me and Sofia, on a scooter. I love Sofia because she's ridiculously fun...She's the one I go to for girl time, and for a reality check. Really, she can manage teenage-girl reality checks. She's only 12, but she can really handle herself better than me. Meaning, she's more likely to get a boyfriend after two weeks than I am after pining for six months. FML. I love you, Sofia.
This is my best friend, Morgen, of over ten years. I love her because she's everything I need her to be. She can listen, laugh, and be tolerant of very weird things. She's been making me dinner for half of my life, and I couldn't imagine growing up without her. She the first person I call when I'm upset in the middle of the night, and is the only one I'll listen to for...a lot.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
"Secret Dream Tag"
So, after I was actually RESPONDED TO on Twitter, it has been confirmed that I will NOT be doing a Challenge today. I decided I'd try something special. This is a tag. In this tag the person is to say what their one ridiculous dream is. Or maybe not RIDICULOUS, but something that seems entirely out of reach. Maybe you want to be as successful an author as J. K. Rowling, or you want to be a world-famous actress. Maybe you want to be an astrophysicist but you suck at math. I'm starting this tag, and it isn't meant to make anyone feel bad, or not good enough. It's meant to really look at your dreams, analyze them, see why they're "impossible," and if you can do anything to make the chances of them becoming reality, how you would do it.
That was a hell of a run-on sentence...
Now, my secret dream is to be a model.
I'd love to do modeling because it's the nice, pretty, conclusion that matters. One of the things that frustrates me about school is that you have to have every step of the way done nice, neat, and perfect, too. I think that isn't practical, and if you get the end result impeccable, it doesn't matter if you did it another way. I know it doesn't work that way, yes, yes... I'm just saying that you just need to be able to execute only the most crucial part at the end of the day.
I love luxurious photos and that amazing thing called photo editing. I love the glamour of the clothes people wear, just to do weird things in them, and the elaborate makeup. If you didn't know, I'm an utter romantic and all things, well, dark, lush and romantic are 'ight with me.
I think I speak for most people in this world when I say, I just want to feel beautiful.
Now, being the lucky girl I am, I have wonderful, supportive friends who, not even knowing this about me, tell me I'm beautiful. I COULD model. Now, I'm not saying I am or I'm not beautiful. I just always, very patiently say I can't. No, I don't hate my appearance, or my body, hair, face, whatever. I just couldn't. I don't have the background in photography, or taken a modeling class. I am destined to live the rest of my life shopping in petites when only women 5"9 and above can strut down a runway in any fashion show. Oh, and sizes MALNOURISHED, BULIMIC, AND ANOREXIC. (Maybe I shouldn't be so blunt, but the lifestyles go hand-in-hand...)
Besides, that world isn't totally glamorous, the way the photos seem to make it. It's eating (and puking up) mostly airline food, and having damaged nails from constant manicuring. The reality isn't the pretty little picture I have in my mind when I think, oh-wouldn't-that-be-nice. A runway model is simply a ridiculous toy used to show off the worst makeup of all time, and bizarre outfits no one would ever wear. I like the black-and-white/sepia modeling with a theme, a meaning, a person who can act only through still poses. That's acting.
It's silly, but it's my secret dream.
Now, all of you, I am tagging you in this. Take it and put it on your blogs, Flickrs, Tumblrs, websites, put it on FB or even bring it to YouTube. I'd love to see what you guys have to say about your highest aspirations. Especially because you sat down and read mine.
Peace, love, LUCKY!
(Anyone get the reference to the fashion world, LOL?)
That was a hell of a run-on sentence...
Now, my secret dream is to be a model.
I'd love to do modeling because it's the nice, pretty, conclusion that matters. One of the things that frustrates me about school is that you have to have every step of the way done nice, neat, and perfect, too. I think that isn't practical, and if you get the end result impeccable, it doesn't matter if you did it another way. I know it doesn't work that way, yes, yes... I'm just saying that you just need to be able to execute only the most crucial part at the end of the day.
I love luxurious photos and that amazing thing called photo editing. I love the glamour of the clothes people wear, just to do weird things in them, and the elaborate makeup. If you didn't know, I'm an utter romantic and all things, well, dark, lush and romantic are 'ight with me.
I think I speak for most people in this world when I say, I just want to feel beautiful.
Now, being the lucky girl I am, I have wonderful, supportive friends who, not even knowing this about me, tell me I'm beautiful. I COULD model. Now, I'm not saying I am or I'm not beautiful. I just always, very patiently say I can't. No, I don't hate my appearance, or my body, hair, face, whatever. I just couldn't. I don't have the background in photography, or taken a modeling class. I am destined to live the rest of my life shopping in petites when only women 5"9 and above can strut down a runway in any fashion show. Oh, and sizes MALNOURISHED, BULIMIC, AND ANOREXIC. (Maybe I shouldn't be so blunt, but the lifestyles go hand-in-hand...)
Besides, that world isn't totally glamorous, the way the photos seem to make it. It's eating (and puking up) mostly airline food, and having damaged nails from constant manicuring. The reality isn't the pretty little picture I have in my mind when I think, oh-wouldn't-that-be-nice. A runway model is simply a ridiculous toy used to show off the worst makeup of all time, and bizarre outfits no one would ever wear. I like the black-and-white/sepia modeling with a theme, a meaning, a person who can act only through still poses. That's acting.
It's silly, but it's my secret dream.
Now, all of you, I am tagging you in this. Take it and put it on your blogs, Flickrs, Tumblrs, websites, put it on FB or even bring it to YouTube. I'd love to see what you guys have to say about your highest aspirations. Especially because you sat down and read mine.
Peace, love, LUCKY!
(Anyone get the reference to the fashion world, LOL?)
Monday, September 13, 2010
Day 2, and a Random WTF Post!
Sorry, loves. Illnesses and loss of wiFi have made me break my promise.
However, Day 2 is the name of your blog and why!
WOOHOO
Well, my URL is kimjatheinkslinger.blogspot.com... The Kimja came from a nickname I had recently gotten in school due to my ninja-ness in Social Studies. >:) I was obsessed, yes, and I still love when people call me that. For my "Ink Slinger," I had just gone into a thesaurus website and typed in "writer." You know me, having to be unique with word choice. Ink Slinger was an epic win there. My lovely Nerdy Sam told me, so HA. Unless you have your own Nerdy Sam, SHUDDUP!
The actual title of my blog is Kimja By Day. I think it's pretty self-explanatory. (I mean, really, look to previous paragraph about how lamely ninja I am.)
Now, onto a real blog post, I guess.
Can anyone tell me why, when I walked into CVS today, did I see a magazine covered entirely devoted to a teenage couple who had a baby? Yes, it's a baby. Babies are wonderfully cute, warm creatures, when they aren't hungry, crying soiling themselves, yes...
But what gives these kids (BTW, they ARE kids, they're really not much older than me...) the right to show off a baby they no longer have rights to, to the world? Every child deserves the right to a secure home, which is very clearly being violated for this baby.
Is adoption the right thing? I don't know. I am NOT pregnant, I don't WANT to be pregnant, but if I did get pregnant I would keep my baby. I'm not one for wondering; it makes me depressed.
I know that was random, but I was really wondering. If someone could help me understand MTV, you are amazing.
And kinda stoopid.
However, Day 2 is the name of your blog and why!
WOOHOO
Well, my URL is kimjatheinkslinger.blogspot.com... The Kimja came from a nickname I had recently gotten in school due to my ninja-ness in Social Studies. >:) I was obsessed, yes, and I still love when people call me that. For my "Ink Slinger," I had just gone into a thesaurus website and typed in "writer." You know me, having to be unique with word choice. Ink Slinger was an epic win there. My lovely Nerdy Sam told me, so HA. Unless you have your own Nerdy Sam, SHUDDUP!
The actual title of my blog is Kimja By Day. I think it's pretty self-explanatory. (I mean, really, look to previous paragraph about how lamely ninja I am.)
Now, onto a real blog post, I guess.
Can anyone tell me why, when I walked into CVS today, did I see a magazine covered entirely devoted to a teenage couple who had a baby? Yes, it's a baby. Babies are wonderfully cute, warm creatures, when they aren't hungry, crying soiling themselves, yes...
But what gives these kids (BTW, they ARE kids, they're really not much older than me...) the right to show off a baby they no longer have rights to, to the world? Every child deserves the right to a secure home, which is very clearly being violated for this baby.
Is adoption the right thing? I don't know. I am NOT pregnant, I don't WANT to be pregnant, but if I did get pregnant I would keep my baby. I'm not one for wondering; it makes me depressed.
I know that was random, but I was really wondering. If someone could help me understand MTV, you are amazing.
And kinda stoopid.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Day 1 Challenge
Day 1 is a recent picture of yourself, and 15 interesting facts about yourself.
Isn't it gooowwwgiss?
1) I hate people. They're just so... empty headed. And I don't like that. But, once I love somebody, I love them fiercely.
2)I am an utter romantic. I don't need romance itself, but I love the idea of unrequited love...just not now.
3)I'm afraid that none of my friends actually like me, and only put up with me because they feel bad for me.I get this feeling on a daily basis, with many of my friends.
4) As shown above, I am very low on the whole self-esteem thing. I hate my body, my nose, my eyes. I hate my chipmunk-y cheeks, and I never think I'm good enough for people to like. I feel like a real nuisance in this world, sometimes.
5) I love houses, inside and out. I know just about every style home, I could pinpoint a price on a house by looking at it. I love interior design, and if it was more practical, I would consider it as a career.
6)I try to spend all of my free time at the pond down the street. It's the best in the fall when the air has just a bit of bite in it, and no one else is there. It's really pretty there, with the water shining, and it's just a great place for pictures, and for sitting down, and, well, everything.
7) I believe that the best place to get in touch with your inner self is at the bow of a speedboat. It fats, and the wind blows through your hair as you bump over another boat's wake. And you can talk to yourself and no one will notice.
8)I want to become fluent in Farsi, a language used throughout the Middle East, but primarily in Iran, because I think their writing is really beautiful. ♥
9) I hate when people mispronounce my last name. It's how it's spelled people! Gi-An-Cas-Pro!
10)I talk to God when I'm scared or lonely, or I just want some good advice. To me, it's important knowng someone is there. I can't believe that no one is responsible for life.
11) I want to be beautiful. ALWAYS. I hate feeling like less than my best.
12) A guy with a Harley Davidson is cooler than a guy who can play guitar, have blonde hair,(that's usually my preferance)or is an utter ninja. Because ninjas are awesome. But motorcycles...CLASSIC motorcycles are cooler.
13) I actually watch that wedding dress show. *COWERS FROM JUDGEMENT!*
14)My goldfish, rather cruelly named Filet-O-Fish (yes, like the McDonald's sandwich) has lived over a year and a half, depsite being left alone about seven times, each time 4-7 days. :P
15) The person I love more than anyone is the one who hurts me the most.
Isn't it gooowwwgiss?
1) I hate people. They're just so... empty headed. And I don't like that. But, once I love somebody, I love them fiercely.
2)I am an utter romantic. I don't need romance itself, but I love the idea of unrequited love...just not now.
3)I'm afraid that none of my friends actually like me, and only put up with me because they feel bad for me.I get this feeling on a daily basis, with many of my friends.
4) As shown above, I am very low on the whole self-esteem thing. I hate my body, my nose, my eyes. I hate my chipmunk-y cheeks, and I never think I'm good enough for people to like. I feel like a real nuisance in this world, sometimes.
5) I love houses, inside and out. I know just about every style home, I could pinpoint a price on a house by looking at it. I love interior design, and if it was more practical, I would consider it as a career.
6)I try to spend all of my free time at the pond down the street. It's the best in the fall when the air has just a bit of bite in it, and no one else is there. It's really pretty there, with the water shining, and it's just a great place for pictures, and for sitting down, and, well, everything.
7) I believe that the best place to get in touch with your inner self is at the bow of a speedboat. It fats, and the wind blows through your hair as you bump over another boat's wake. And you can talk to yourself and no one will notice.
8)I want to become fluent in Farsi, a language used throughout the Middle East, but primarily in Iran, because I think their writing is really beautiful. ♥
9) I hate when people mispronounce my last name. It's how it's spelled people! Gi-An-Cas-Pro!
10)I talk to God when I'm scared or lonely, or I just want some good advice. To me, it's important knowng someone is there. I can't believe that no one is responsible for life.
11) I want to be beautiful. ALWAYS. I hate feeling like less than my best.
12) A guy with a Harley Davidson is cooler than a guy who can play guitar, have blonde hair,(that's usually my preferance)or is an utter ninja. Because ninjas are awesome. But motorcycles...CLASSIC motorcycles are cooler.
13) I actually watch that wedding dress show. *COWERS FROM JUDGEMENT!*
14)My goldfish, rather cruelly named Filet-O-Fish (yes, like the McDonald's sandwich) has lived over a year and a half, depsite being left alone about seven times, each time 4-7 days. :P
15) The person I love more than anyone is the one who hurts me the most.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
WHAT KIM READ THIS SUMMER AND WHETHER OR NOT YOU SHOULD READ IT AS WELL
Tomorrow I am going to start a 30-Day Challenge I found on my friends Nadine's blog. It sounds like alot of fun and I really want to try something new. However, today is WHAT KIM READ THIS SUMMER AND WHETHER OR NOT YOU SHOULD READ IT TOO, as shown in the title.
This will be done by alphabetical order of the author.
Bradbury, Ray: Fahrenheit 451. I had to read this for summer reading. Otherwise I would have tossed it over my shoulder and gave it the finger. It had the potential to be an amazing book, but it wasn't executed, towards the end as well as it should've been. Too bad. :/
Capote, Truman: Breakfast at Tiffany's. I liked this novella a lot. It had a surprisingly surprising story, a quite eccentric-yet-lovable main character. The narrator, too, being unnamed, is also quite fascinating. OHMAIGAWD I DIDN'T SEE THE END COMING.
In Cold Blood. This modern classic has everything a murder story needs. A murder, the murders trails, the reason, the sentence, their lives in solitary confinement, their backgrounds. You know all of these facts and history isn't boring. This, for mah SHS buddies, is also, for now, a 10 EngH summer reading book.
Collins, Suzanne: Mockingjay. This is the final installment of THE HUNGER GAMES trilogy and it is INTENSE. Seriously, the hijacking, and new twists, the change of almost EVERY chracter's personality. And I almost started crying.
Yeah, that intense. THE HUNGER GAMES is amazing and everyone should read all of the books and LOVE THEM.
Smith, Betty: A Tree Grows In Brooklyn. Honestly, this wasn't a bad book. Many of my peers, as this, too, was a summer reading book, hated it. I liked it. I thought it was a real story that was written very well. There were, despite the book taking place nearly a century ago, things to relate to. The things that piss the narrator off pissed me off too. And I think that that's very important in a book.
Steifvater, Maggie: Shiver and Linger. They're right next to each other in the series they are in, so I figured I'd do them together. Imagine the supernatural sexiness of werewolves without the suckiness of vampires. (It's a PUN, get it?!) But, for serial, this intense real-deal teenage love people. AND I LOVE IT!
I didn't read alot this summer. FORGIVE ME, GIANT FLYING SPAGHETTI MONSTER!
And tomorrow you shall see the 30-Day Challenge thing. :)
Dude, I have a crudload of blog lined up for you guys. The challeneg, a couple of promos, maybe another sneak peek...
:D
This will be done by alphabetical order of the author.
Bradbury, Ray: Fahrenheit 451. I had to read this for summer reading. Otherwise I would have tossed it over my shoulder and gave it the finger. It had the potential to be an amazing book, but it wasn't executed, towards the end as well as it should've been. Too bad. :/
Capote, Truman: Breakfast at Tiffany's. I liked this novella a lot. It had a surprisingly surprising story, a quite eccentric-yet-lovable main character. The narrator, too, being unnamed, is also quite fascinating. OHMAIGAWD I DIDN'T SEE THE END COMING.
In Cold Blood. This modern classic has everything a murder story needs. A murder, the murders trails, the reason, the sentence, their lives in solitary confinement, their backgrounds. You know all of these facts and history isn't boring. This, for mah SHS buddies, is also, for now, a 10 EngH summer reading book.
Collins, Suzanne: Mockingjay. This is the final installment of THE HUNGER GAMES trilogy and it is INTENSE. Seriously, the hijacking, and new twists, the change of almost EVERY chracter's personality. And I almost started crying.
Yeah, that intense. THE HUNGER GAMES is amazing and everyone should read all of the books and LOVE THEM.
Smith, Betty: A Tree Grows In Brooklyn. Honestly, this wasn't a bad book. Many of my peers, as this, too, was a summer reading book, hated it. I liked it. I thought it was a real story that was written very well. There were, despite the book taking place nearly a century ago, things to relate to. The things that piss the narrator off pissed me off too. And I think that that's very important in a book.
Steifvater, Maggie: Shiver and Linger. They're right next to each other in the series they are in, so I figured I'd do them together. Imagine the supernatural sexiness of werewolves without the suckiness of vampires. (It's a PUN, get it?!) But, for serial, this intense real-deal teenage love people. AND I LOVE IT!
I didn't read alot this summer. FORGIVE ME, GIANT FLYING SPAGHETTI MONSTER!
And tomorrow you shall see the 30-Day Challenge thing. :)
Dude, I have a crudload of blog lined up for you guys. The challeneg, a couple of promos, maybe another sneak peek...
:D
Monday, September 6, 2010
What is Summer?
T'is the end of summertime. T'is. T'was a lovely summer, though. Not the best of my life, but very nice.
Now, what's summer to you guys?
To me, summer is burning my tongue on the most amazing clam chowder in the world. It's bothering the lifeguards at the ponds, and scratching at the bug bites around my ankles until I get my hands on some Witch hazel. (I like using witch hazel more than any other kind of itch-relief because of the name!)It's also leaning over the bow of a speedboat and feeling the wind knocl my ponytail holder out as we bump over wake-induced waves.
Summer is knowing I suck at water skiing and doing it anyway, because it's a rite of passage in my family. It's flipping over when I go tubing and lake water being warmer than the air at 7 AM. It's failed all-nighters and watching Supernatural.
It's experimenting with my clothing taste and having the time to spend an hour on my makeup. It's avoiding the sun because I've never liked the look of a tan. If pale skin was prized before, it should be prized even more as we now know it's healthier to not fry in the sun.
It's walking everywhere, and sleeping over my best friends house and going from there directly to the pond. It's writing more, and better than I ever did in school. It's adding raps to my poetry.
It's jamming to Justin Timberlake and not caring what my friends think. It's jamming to EA and not caring what my brother thinks. It's not having enough books. It's going shopping because I feel like being in air conditioning, and rolling around when I do go to bed 'cause it's SO EFFING HOT!
It's cursing 'til I'm blue in the face because today's the last day of pure nothingness.
Now, what's summer to you guys?
To me, summer is burning my tongue on the most amazing clam chowder in the world. It's bothering the lifeguards at the ponds, and scratching at the bug bites around my ankles until I get my hands on some Witch hazel. (I like using witch hazel more than any other kind of itch-relief because of the name!)It's also leaning over the bow of a speedboat and feeling the wind knocl my ponytail holder out as we bump over wake-induced waves.
Summer is knowing I suck at water skiing and doing it anyway, because it's a rite of passage in my family. It's flipping over when I go tubing and lake water being warmer than the air at 7 AM. It's failed all-nighters and watching Supernatural.
It's experimenting with my clothing taste and having the time to spend an hour on my makeup. It's avoiding the sun because I've never liked the look of a tan. If pale skin was prized before, it should be prized even more as we now know it's healthier to not fry in the sun.
It's walking everywhere, and sleeping over my best friends house and going from there directly to the pond. It's writing more, and better than I ever did in school. It's adding raps to my poetry.
It's jamming to Justin Timberlake and not caring what my friends think. It's jamming to EA and not caring what my brother thinks. It's not having enough books. It's going shopping because I feel like being in air conditioning, and rolling around when I do go to bed 'cause it's SO EFFING HOT!
It's cursing 'til I'm blue in the face because today's the last day of pure nothingness.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Why I Love to Write: A Lesson in Expandation
I like to stretch out sentences. I discovered this in sixth grade when my English teacher said that for homework we had to expand on the sentence "The princess walked."
There's a million ways to expand that sentence. The princess walked in a meadow; she walked into her room, lonely in her tower. Maybe she didn't walk, she ran into the arms of her prince. Mine became a story of a knight waiting for her as she walked a drawbridge. She was going to be his bride because he had saved the whole kingdom from some kind of horror. Maybe it was a dragon. or an evil sorcerer. I don't know. It's not saved on my computer anymore. That one is gone now.
The point is, I made something pretty with a tiny idea. I crafted these gorgeous sentences that I can't even remember anymore. I realized that I could really write, and maybe even well. This quality was honed in seventh, and pursued in several different ways in eighth grade. Over the summer I took a writing class, which, despite being mostly worthless, I saw how people could write better than me. Which, of course, motivated me to write better than them.
For a very rare exmaple of this whole "expanding" technique: Truman Capote, the dude who wrote Breakfast at Tiffany's (Yes, it was a book firts!) write the American classic, In Cold Blood, based on a 300-word article on the murder of a Kansas family. That book was a mulit-million dollar project, and is now important enough to be required reading for the tenth graders at my school. That's expandation to the extreme, though.
Basically, to do expandation you just gotta have the drive to rework and rewrite what already exists. A novel's idea doesn't pop in at 50,000+ words. A novel starts at no more than the size of a blurb on the front flap of a dust cover. A plot will never stay exactly the same, so I wouldn't say it is the blurb itself.
Baby, it freaking works. For any writer who can't find the real motivation, (none of my friends, of course.) just try to add big words to what you have just floating around your mind. And some dialogue.
Best of luck to you all. :)
There's a million ways to expand that sentence. The princess walked in a meadow; she walked into her room, lonely in her tower. Maybe she didn't walk, she ran into the arms of her prince. Mine became a story of a knight waiting for her as she walked a drawbridge. She was going to be his bride because he had saved the whole kingdom from some kind of horror. Maybe it was a dragon. or an evil sorcerer. I don't know. It's not saved on my computer anymore. That one is gone now.
The point is, I made something pretty with a tiny idea. I crafted these gorgeous sentences that I can't even remember anymore. I realized that I could really write, and maybe even well. This quality was honed in seventh, and pursued in several different ways in eighth grade. Over the summer I took a writing class, which, despite being mostly worthless, I saw how people could write better than me. Which, of course, motivated me to write better than them.
For a very rare exmaple of this whole "expanding" technique: Truman Capote, the dude who wrote Breakfast at Tiffany's (Yes, it was a book firts!) write the American classic, In Cold Blood, based on a 300-word article on the murder of a Kansas family. That book was a mulit-million dollar project, and is now important enough to be required reading for the tenth graders at my school. That's expandation to the extreme, though.
Basically, to do expandation you just gotta have the drive to rework and rewrite what already exists. A novel's idea doesn't pop in at 50,000+ words. A novel starts at no more than the size of a blurb on the front flap of a dust cover. A plot will never stay exactly the same, so I wouldn't say it is the blurb itself.
Baby, it freaking works. For any writer who can't find the real motivation, (none of my friends, of course.) just try to add big words to what you have just floating around your mind. And some dialogue.
Best of luck to you all. :)
Monday, August 30, 2010
The Tweet Tweet Awards 2010
Social networking is either a beautiful thing, or a God-awful one. I, for the most part, am in favor. Facebok is for friending and keeping up with people I don't see anymore and the people that I see alot, but can't live at home without stalking at least a leetle.Twitter is for celebrities, so I know when the hell to go get TI's new album Through Yourself and Back Again. (DK what I'm talking about, look a couple posts down.) And for funny random tweets, and further stalking Sam. Blogs are for expression, YouTube was for comedy, and Formspring. Formspring wasn't good for anything, but highly amusing.
PS: no linking. There would be a brain boggling amount of it, so no.
Today, I shall be presenting, KIMJA'S TWEET TWEET AWARDS!
Most Random: Austin Kleon, austinkleon Blackout poet. INVENTED the genre. Check him out. Just google him. Something will pop up.
Most Intelligent: Samantha Nyx, the lovely writer with perfect grammar. If you correct something here, Sam, BLAH TO YOU. By the way, she owns the URL, nerdysam.com. GO CHECK HER out!!! I love that girl.
Keeps In Touch: Bridget Kaitlin, breezybee97, she is an amzing singer and an apiring musician. Check her out on YoutTube, where her username is the same as Twitter, and on iTunes where it's just Bridget Kaitlin.
Best Group: Thriving Ivory. Did you even have to guess. Go look for them of Facebook, twitter, iTunes, FYE, whatever. <3 <3 <3
Smartest Username: Keshasuxx. It's a verified account, so those who love her will follow. Those who hate her won't even notice the verified and follow. She ACTUALLY did aomething smart. WOW!
Saddest: Those people who make Twitters for fictitous chracters. FAIL. Besides the one for Stewie Grfiin. FUNNY!
Why Do I Follow Them?: Justin Bieber. WHY???? To laugh at him? Probably.
Best Venue: Mohegan Sun. EPIC HOTEL.
Best Washed-Up B-List Celebrity: Devon Werkheiser, Devonwerkharder Remember Ned's Declassified? HIM. He's a musician now,and really good. On YouTube he's WerkingItOut.
Funniest: The Fabulous author of an all-time favorite, Thirteen Little Blue Envelopes: MaurrenJohnson. (BTW, the lack of a space is INTENDED.) Go type her name into the address bar with a ".com" The website's even better.
A close second will be rewarded to Michael Buckley, Buckhollywood, known on YouTube as WHATTHEBUCKSHOW, celebrity gossip. The only kind I can tolerate. And thumbs up for being open and able to joke about his sexuality.
The Grand Tweet: Shane Dawson, shanedawson. You guys HAD to see that coming. If you didn't, a good *facepalm* is in order. I know you know of him and his work. And if you don't... BANISH. If you do, I think you can agree that his humility is very admrable for someone who has met so much success. So, I really do appreciate the way he treats his fans, and it's not just a bas thing.
BTW, if you care. I'm Kimmanzilla. ;)
I'm sorry I've been doing stupid stuff, promotional stuff instead of my own thinking. I just have a mass book review and then we'll see some thinking. 'Cause then school will have begun. And I will have to think.
Eew. But for you guys, it's worth it.
PS: no linking. There would be a brain boggling amount of it, so no.
Today, I shall be presenting, KIMJA'S TWEET TWEET AWARDS!
Most Random: Austin Kleon, austinkleon Blackout poet. INVENTED the genre. Check him out. Just google him. Something will pop up.
Most Intelligent: Samantha Nyx, the lovely writer with perfect grammar. If you correct something here, Sam, BLAH TO YOU. By the way, she owns the URL, nerdysam.com. GO CHECK HER out!!! I love that girl.
Keeps In Touch: Bridget Kaitlin, breezybee97, she is an amzing singer and an apiring musician. Check her out on YoutTube, where her username is the same as Twitter, and on iTunes where it's just Bridget Kaitlin.
Best Group: Thriving Ivory. Did you even have to guess. Go look for them of Facebook, twitter, iTunes, FYE, whatever. <3 <3 <3
Smartest Username: Keshasuxx. It's a verified account, so those who love her will follow. Those who hate her won't even notice the verified and follow. She ACTUALLY did aomething smart. WOW!
Saddest: Those people who make Twitters for fictitous chracters. FAIL. Besides the one for Stewie Grfiin. FUNNY!
Why Do I Follow Them?: Justin Bieber. WHY???? To laugh at him? Probably.
Best Venue: Mohegan Sun. EPIC HOTEL.
Best Washed-Up B-List Celebrity: Devon Werkheiser, Devonwerkharder Remember Ned's Declassified? HIM. He's a musician now,and really good. On YouTube he's WerkingItOut.
Funniest: The Fabulous author of an all-time favorite, Thirteen Little Blue Envelopes: MaurrenJohnson. (BTW, the lack of a space is INTENDED.) Go type her name into the address bar with a ".com" The website's even better.
A close second will be rewarded to Michael Buckley, Buckhollywood, known on YouTube as WHATTHEBUCKSHOW, celebrity gossip. The only kind I can tolerate. And thumbs up for being open and able to joke about his sexuality.
The Grand Tweet: Shane Dawson, shanedawson. You guys HAD to see that coming. If you didn't, a good *facepalm* is in order. I know you know of him and his work. And if you don't... BANISH. If you do, I think you can agree that his humility is very admrable for someone who has met so much success. So, I really do appreciate the way he treats his fans, and it's not just a bas thing.
BTW, if you care. I'm Kimmanzilla. ;)
I'm sorry I've been doing stupid stuff, promotional stuff instead of my own thinking. I just have a mass book review and then we'll see some thinking. 'Cause then school will have begun. And I will have to think.
Eew. But for you guys, it's worth it.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Internet FUN!
So, after getting inspiration from someone on Facebook, I went on Urban Dictionary and looked up the names of some of my friends. (Mostly writing buddies!) I just had to share...
Kimberly
cute, beautiful, and intelligent. enjoys going off topic and will laugh at anything and anyone without a care. she has nice wavy hair that has nver been dyed because shes so real but then again she wears contacts but its ok vbecause she is kind of blind without them (HAHAAHA). has a nice round ass, if you've ever been at the beach with her...lucky lucky. she attracts everyone, male, female, dog, trashcan. i love kim!
Samantha
Usually a name for a person that is a walking Goddess. Gorgeous to the maximum, fun to talk to, easy to befriend with a sexy booty. Often pulls off the innocent act but she can definately get around.
Damn, that Samantha is too cute for words.
You know Samantha? Lucky asshole.
Nadine
The most beautiful, amazing and intellectually inclined girl in the world. Brings hope to others that want her, because that's what her name means in French. Is extremely hot, and good at anything she does
Nadine, oh my god.
Ricky
An extremely attractive individual who sets the standard for others by being completely and undeniably amazing in every way possible. Worshiped for having the finest ass in America, and getting the most wanted action from girls.
Basically Ricky is a complete beast.
Jon
John. (Gay version)
Jon. (Awesome Version)
Someone who is loyal to all of his friends. Who always has something funny to say. Someone who can always give you some great advise. You should be very proud to be with friends with a Jon.
Jarod
1. The act of trying to make sure that people know that you are right because you are usually right. 2. To be all encompassing, well rounded, well accomplished
Alex
A manly man. Alex is a name of Greek origin. Greatness and power will come upon this person. Warning,no warning he will give.
" Alex you're so freakin' awesome".
Ninja
Ninjas can divide by zero
- ninjas dont walk the ground moves for them
- when ninjas do pushups, they dont push themselves up, they push the world down
- when it rains ninjas dont wet wet, the rain gets ninja
- Ninjas do not sleep, they wait.
- Ninjas tears cure cancer, too bad they never cry
- Ninjas make onions cry
- Ninjas gave cats nine lives so they could kill them more.
- Bullets dodge ninjas
- Ninjas can predict the songs on there ipod shuffle
- Ninjas taught kool aid man how to break though walls
- In an average living room there are 1,242 objects ninjas could use to kill you, including the room itself.
Nerds
noun: The most dangerous people in the entire world. Nerds have invented machine guns, assault rifles, armor piercing ammunition, high explosives, napalm, tanks, anti-personnel mines, torpedoes, cannons, surface-to-air missiles, fighter aircraft, bombers, submarines, destroyers, battleships, aircraft carriers, chemical and biological weapons, nuclear bombs, and ICBMs
Every weapon of mass destruction ever concieved of or built was concieved of or built by nerds.
Guys with IQ higher than your weight.
Writers
Writers write, right? Right. Write.
Blogger
"Term used to describe anyone with enough time or narcissism to document every tedious bit of minutia filling their uneventful lives. Possibly the most annoying thing about bloggers is the sense of self-importance they get after even the most modest of publicity. Sometimes it takes as little as a referral on a more popular blogger's website to set the lesser blogger's ego into orbit. Then God forbid a blogger gets mentioned on CNN. If you thought it was impossible for a certain blogger to get more pious than he was, wait until you see the shit storm of self-righteous save-the-world bullshit after a network plug. Suddenly the boring, mild-mannered blogger you once knew will turn into Mother Theresa, and will single handedly take it upon himself to end world hunger with his stupid links to band websites and other smug blogger dipshits." - Maddox
My God, I love Urban Dictionary. I'm sorry I haven't done any real in-depth blogs in so long, but, hey, I'm bouncing back. I swear, I didn't do any blogger for nearly a month, and just recently I was going through some people's blogs and thinking, Why don't these people blog more? Then I realized what a hypocrite I am. I hope you guys are happy I'm back, and that you like the random blogging. After I finish reading everything I bought at Borders this summer, I'll do post on what is AHMAIZING and what should be burned at 451 Fahrenheit, if you catch my drift.
Enjoy the sneak peek? ;)
Kimberly
cute, beautiful, and intelligent. enjoys going off topic and will laugh at anything and anyone without a care. she has nice wavy hair that has nver been dyed because shes so real but then again she wears contacts but its ok vbecause she is kind of blind without them (HAHAAHA). has a nice round ass, if you've ever been at the beach with her...lucky lucky. she attracts everyone, male, female, dog, trashcan. i love kim!
Samantha
Usually a name for a person that is a walking Goddess. Gorgeous to the maximum, fun to talk to, easy to befriend with a sexy booty. Often pulls off the innocent act but she can definately get around.
Damn, that Samantha is too cute for words.
You know Samantha? Lucky asshole.
Nadine
The most beautiful, amazing and intellectually inclined girl in the world. Brings hope to others that want her, because that's what her name means in French. Is extremely hot, and good at anything she does
Nadine, oh my god.
Ricky
An extremely attractive individual who sets the standard for others by being completely and undeniably amazing in every way possible. Worshiped for having the finest ass in America, and getting the most wanted action from girls.
Basically Ricky is a complete beast.
Jon
John. (Gay version)
Jon. (Awesome Version)
Someone who is loyal to all of his friends. Who always has something funny to say. Someone who can always give you some great advise. You should be very proud to be with friends with a Jon.
Jarod
1. The act of trying to make sure that people know that you are right because you are usually right. 2. To be all encompassing, well rounded, well accomplished
Alex
A manly man. Alex is a name of Greek origin. Greatness and power will come upon this person. Warning,no warning he will give.
" Alex you're so freakin' awesome".
Ninja
Ninjas can divide by zero
- ninjas dont walk the ground moves for them
- when ninjas do pushups, they dont push themselves up, they push the world down
- when it rains ninjas dont wet wet, the rain gets ninja
- Ninjas do not sleep, they wait.
- Ninjas tears cure cancer, too bad they never cry
- Ninjas make onions cry
- Ninjas gave cats nine lives so they could kill them more.
- Bullets dodge ninjas
- Ninjas can predict the songs on there ipod shuffle
- Ninjas taught kool aid man how to break though walls
- In an average living room there are 1,242 objects ninjas could use to kill you, including the room itself.
Nerds
noun: The most dangerous people in the entire world. Nerds have invented machine guns, assault rifles, armor piercing ammunition, high explosives, napalm, tanks, anti-personnel mines, torpedoes, cannons, surface-to-air missiles, fighter aircraft, bombers, submarines, destroyers, battleships, aircraft carriers, chemical and biological weapons, nuclear bombs, and ICBMs
Every weapon of mass destruction ever concieved of or built was concieved of or built by nerds.
Guys with IQ higher than your weight.
Writers
Writers write, right? Right. Write.
Blogger
"Term used to describe anyone with enough time or narcissism to document every tedious bit of minutia filling their uneventful lives. Possibly the most annoying thing about bloggers is the sense of self-importance they get after even the most modest of publicity. Sometimes it takes as little as a referral on a more popular blogger's website to set the lesser blogger's ego into orbit. Then God forbid a blogger gets mentioned on CNN. If you thought it was impossible for a certain blogger to get more pious than he was, wait until you see the shit storm of self-righteous save-the-world bullshit after a network plug. Suddenly the boring, mild-mannered blogger you once knew will turn into Mother Theresa, and will single handedly take it upon himself to end world hunger with his stupid links to band websites and other smug blogger dipshits." - Maddox
My God, I love Urban Dictionary. I'm sorry I haven't done any real in-depth blogs in so long, but, hey, I'm bouncing back. I swear, I didn't do any blogger for nearly a month, and just recently I was going through some people's blogs and thinking, Why don't these people blog more? Then I realized what a hypocrite I am. I hope you guys are happy I'm back, and that you like the random blogging. After I finish reading everything I bought at Borders this summer, I'll do post on what is AHMAIZING and what should be burned at 451 Fahrenheit, if you catch my drift.
Enjoy the sneak peek? ;)
Monday, August 23, 2010
My Ongoing Obsession with THRIVING IVORY
This is OVERDUE. Extremely. My obsession began midway through seventh grade and I begin ninth in about three or so weeks...
I LOVE THRIVING IVORY.
Who are they, you say? *GASP* They are the most amazing band ever. I'd say that they're Alt-Rock-ish. I can't find the genre on their Myspace page. Whatever. I know I'm right. They're an acquired taste, by the way. If you know them, you know what I mean, SAM. You can kind of see the band's personality through the group photos they take.
Now it's up to you to read the picture. I, personally, like to do that. I spend endless hours stalking Flickrs or looking in magazines at the models with angry expressions. If you don't, then just look at the pic, I guess. You have Drew, then Paul, then Clayton, then you have Scott, and then some dude I don't know with swoopy hair.
But, the thing I adore about them is their lyrics. I mean, I love that the most. They take brainpower and deep thought to decipher. The words are just GORGEOUS.
When burning bridges won't come down/Like symphonies without a sound/I spend these nights counting stars/And wonder if there's hope for me out there--Runaway
This is to one last day in the shadows/And to know a brother's love/This is to New York City angels/And the rivers of our blood/This is to all of us--Angels on the Moon
hey lady said i dont want to fight/like pretty girls need cowboys/i need you here tonight--Hey Lady
Like weeping violins, you tremble and you shake--For Heaven's Sake
*Lyrics from SongMeanings.net
I would go on, but then the whol post would be a bunch of lyric pieces.
I also love their piano bits in the beginning of songs like, Love Alone and Unhappy. Are they called loops? I think so. I don't know anything about the piano, despite the whole piano theme in CRAVED. (Which, by the way, if you didn't know, is my current WIP novel...Look in my archives for a couple teasers.) But, I love it.
They're a Vh1 You Oughtta Know artist...or band...or whatever.
I'm ever so sorry that I am not as daintily articulate as Scott (who is the main songwriter) is. Perhaps I simply was not meant to be devastatingly lyrical. Oh well.
But, you know, check them out on Myspace, on YouTube, (they're amazing enough to have a VEVO, BTW) Facebook or Twitter. Go buy a song on iTunes. Their new album Through Yourself & Back Again comes out next month, on the fourteenth. Their debut album is just called Thriving Ivory. But the cover is SO pretty. :)
Now, why are you still on this page? Go to various other pages I have mentioned. NOOOW!!!
I LOVE THRIVING IVORY.
Who are they, you say? *GASP* They are the most amazing band ever. I'd say that they're Alt-Rock-ish. I can't find the genre on their Myspace page. Whatever. I know I'm right. They're an acquired taste, by the way. If you know them, you know what I mean, SAM. You can kind of see the band's personality through the group photos they take.
Now it's up to you to read the picture. I, personally, like to do that. I spend endless hours stalking Flickrs or looking in magazines at the models with angry expressions. If you don't, then just look at the pic, I guess. You have Drew, then Paul, then Clayton, then you have Scott, and then some dude I don't know with swoopy hair.
But, the thing I adore about them is their lyrics. I mean, I love that the most. They take brainpower and deep thought to decipher. The words are just GORGEOUS.
When burning bridges won't come down/Like symphonies without a sound/I spend these nights counting stars/And wonder if there's hope for me out there--Runaway
This is to one last day in the shadows/And to know a brother's love/This is to New York City angels/And the rivers of our blood/This is to all of us--Angels on the Moon
hey lady said i dont want to fight/like pretty girls need cowboys/i need you here tonight--Hey Lady
Like weeping violins, you tremble and you shake--For Heaven's Sake
*Lyrics from SongMeanings.net
I would go on, but then the whol post would be a bunch of lyric pieces.
I also love their piano bits in the beginning of songs like, Love Alone and Unhappy. Are they called loops? I think so. I don't know anything about the piano, despite the whole piano theme in CRAVED. (Which, by the way, if you didn't know, is my current WIP novel...Look in my archives for a couple teasers.) But, I love it.
They're a Vh1 You Oughtta Know artist...or band...or whatever.
I'm ever so sorry that I am not as daintily articulate as Scott (who is the main songwriter) is. Perhaps I simply was not meant to be devastatingly lyrical. Oh well.
But, you know, check them out on Myspace, on YouTube, (they're amazing enough to have a VEVO, BTW) Facebook or Twitter. Go buy a song on iTunes. Their new album Through Yourself & Back Again comes out next month, on the fourteenth. Their debut album is just called Thriving Ivory. But the cover is SO pretty. :)
Now, why are you still on this page? Go to various other pages I have mentioned. NOOOW!!!
Monday, August 16, 2010
THE BIGGEST DEAL SINCE J-MAC!
*This is not Fangirl-ness. In Fangirl-land, there is Jensen Ackles, Michael Bublé, and (DUN DUN DUN) Shane Dawson. <3
What's the most controversial issue in America right now?
Is it the oil spill? Abortion, Michelle Obama's arms?
NO!
It's a little boy from Canada.
Now, I've been looking to do this blog post for a while. Armed with about ten minutes worth of research, a Twitter following, bothering to actually listen to at least part of his two albums, and the constant mocking from just about everyone on Earth, I am READY.
It's J-J-J-JB, yeah! Sorry. I did all of my research right now... But, Justin Bieber.
Now, the usual hate:
-His hair.
-He wears makeup.
-His high voice.
-His use of the word "Shawty," which is actually not a word.
-His hoodies.
-He's ugly.
*This is a limited list, as I do not feel like going to hell and back today. Maybe if I was in a worse mood.
Now, I will defend him. This not something anyone, even if they went to law school, and have extreme stubborness should attempt. I am only able to do this because I have watch My Cousin Vinny so many times and VINNY'S EPIC!
Now, I'm not a fangirl. AT ALL. But I really think that they way so many people treat him is just mean. If you know me, despite my hypocrisy, I really don't like cruelty. I believe that a society as advanced as our own should just be able to wish others well, and move on.
To share some reseach... His mom was a pregnant teen, he almost didn't end up with his career because of his mom and something to do with Chritianity. Irony?! Justin Timberlake (the ORIGINAL Justin!) and Usher fought over him, and he's actually a human male.
Now, hmm, I think his hair is so CUTE. C'mon, the flip? I LOVE THAT. Actually, back in school I have a friend with that hair. I used to make him do the flip all the time.
The makeup? Well, all celebrities wear makeup, but the clearly visible deep pink lip gloss in one of his videos? Undefendable. But, still, only a minor misdemeanor.
The high voice? No one can help their voice. You hate him because of his voice? Listen to Michael Jackson.
Yeah, that shut you up.
The "shawty" is also undefendable, as he is a little white boy. Same for the hoodies. But, did you know, I love the cardigan style on almost ALL guys? I do.
Is he ugly? Well, he's better-looking than just about every guy in my grade.
So, there you go. Now...
Now, do your thing. Kiss it, give it the finger, shrug your shoulders, or curse him out. I really don't care. But let me know in a comment please?
What's the most controversial issue in America right now?
Is it the oil spill? Abortion, Michelle Obama's arms?
NO!
It's a little boy from Canada.
Now, I've been looking to do this blog post for a while. Armed with about ten minutes worth of research, a Twitter following, bothering to actually listen to at least part of his two albums, and the constant mocking from just about everyone on Earth, I am READY.
It's J-J-J-JB, yeah! Sorry. I did all of my research right now... But, Justin Bieber.
Now, the usual hate:
-His hair.
-He wears makeup.
-His high voice.
-His use of the word "Shawty," which is actually not a word.
-His hoodies.
-He's ugly.
*This is a limited list, as I do not feel like going to hell and back today. Maybe if I was in a worse mood.
Now, I will defend him. This not something anyone, even if they went to law school, and have extreme stubborness should attempt. I am only able to do this because I have watch My Cousin Vinny so many times and VINNY'S EPIC!
Now, I'm not a fangirl. AT ALL. But I really think that they way so many people treat him is just mean. If you know me, despite my hypocrisy, I really don't like cruelty. I believe that a society as advanced as our own should just be able to wish others well, and move on.
To share some reseach... His mom was a pregnant teen, he almost didn't end up with his career because of his mom and something to do with Chritianity. Irony?! Justin Timberlake (the ORIGINAL Justin!) and Usher fought over him, and he's actually a human male.
Now, hmm, I think his hair is so CUTE. C'mon, the flip? I LOVE THAT. Actually, back in school I have a friend with that hair. I used to make him do the flip all the time.
The makeup? Well, all celebrities wear makeup, but the clearly visible deep pink lip gloss in one of his videos? Undefendable. But, still, only a minor misdemeanor.
The high voice? No one can help their voice. You hate him because of his voice? Listen to Michael Jackson.
Yeah, that shut you up.
The "shawty" is also undefendable, as he is a little white boy. Same for the hoodies. But, did you know, I love the cardigan style on almost ALL guys? I do.
Is he ugly? Well, he's better-looking than just about every guy in my grade.
So, there you go. Now...
Now, do your thing. Kiss it, give it the finger, shrug your shoulders, or curse him out. I really don't care. But let me know in a comment please?
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Hollinsummer and The Breakfast Club! :)
Hollins University.
I went to their summer program for girls, Hollinsummer. There are no pictures. I know, I promised them and I'm sorry. But when I got there my camera would not turn on due to a constant lens error. Pay $200.00 for a decent camera and it flatlines in less than a year. F#@K YOU!
But, I digress. There are no writing tips. I learned almost nothing, besides the fact that I had the coolest girls ever in my class. And it was really awkward because I was the only freshman among, well, every other high school grade. Now, I won't say it was a bad class. I just don't think it was right for me.
Now, psych was another story. My teacher was Dr. George Ledger and he was epic. Like, Mr. Power/Mr. Woolsey epic, for those who know what I'm talking about.Really, I kid you not.
The discussions every day were so thoughtful, and you wouldn't believe the things beyond a person's eyeliner. The girl with the pretty smile may be a sleepwalker and maybe the girl over there is a closeted lesbian back home, and that one has a boyfriend who doesn't treat her the way he should. And you'd never know.
So, babe, I got my money's worth, along with a $1,000.00 scholarship to use, should I go to Hollins University. I know that's, like, nothing, but it basically pays back the cost of the camp, which is about $1,300.00.
Now, that's not all there is, in terms of classes. There's pottery, painting, cooking, movie-making, photography, modern dance, forensic chemistry (CSI, anyone?), and what I call the WTF classes. Examples? Leadership, So You Want to be President. Need I say more?
And, for my friends who hate gym as much as I do, you DO have to take a spot. But, hey, it was only an hour and fifteen minutes. I took soccer, which I shouldn't have done, I admit. But I LOVED the coaches. You see, my mother and father were so amused by the idea of me playing a sport that they wanted to film it. So they could mock me. We told one of the coaches that and he said he'd film it. Jerk. And It was even harder to detest him because he gave us Popsicles. GRR...
They also have, um..., volleyball, golf, rock climbing, swimming, tennis, maybe basketball...I don;t remember. Sports mean nothing to me.
Next important? Food, then rooms, then traveling shit. Then I'll wrap it up.
Food! We ate breakfast from 8-9, then lunch was 12-1, then dinner was 5-6. It was essentially a cafeteria. (I mean, we WERE at school.) We had a bunch of options and they ALWAYS had dessert. Bottom line: the food was pretty bearable.
Rooms. You had a room, in a hall with other girls. You shared your room with one other girl and the bathroom with the rest of the hall. Six, seven toilets, three showers. You had a counselor for your hall who showed you everything. She was you go-to girl. I loved mine. She was so sweet. :) You had to be in your room by eleven. You had to be "quiet" 'til seven.
Oh! I forgot! You had homework...but it was never bad.
And I only encountered one mean girl. Like, hideously mean. :P BITCH! PS: Claire is a fat girl's name! But everyone else, was really cool, really smart, beautiful, unique, original, and had great style.
Now, travel. I live in New York, about an hour north of the city. The camp is in Roanoke County, Virginia, about an eight-hour drive from home. We stayed overnight in Maryland in the scariest motel ever. The people, my God, they were the most stereotypical people I have ever seen. Cree-pyyy.
So, in a nutshell, I'd go again. But take different classes. I'd probably take the cooking class, or an art class. And rock climbing. And, if I managed to convince you, and you are one of my girlies, I'll go wit' chu. PARTAY LIKE A RAWKSTAH!
Oh my. It looks like I just spelled it in, like, Farsi.
And to my Hollins girls, I love you. And DON'T YOU FORGET ABOUT ME....! ;)
SHOUT-OUT TO:
Morga, Kiki, Zaida, Sarah, Amanda, Erin, Tapley, Elizabeth, Celeste, Haley, Sam, Nicole, Captain Awesome, Maria, Charlotte, and if I forgot you, comment below and yell at me!
I went to their summer program for girls, Hollinsummer. There are no pictures. I know, I promised them and I'm sorry. But when I got there my camera would not turn on due to a constant lens error. Pay $200.00 for a decent camera and it flatlines in less than a year. F#@K YOU!
But, I digress. There are no writing tips. I learned almost nothing, besides the fact that I had the coolest girls ever in my class. And it was really awkward because I was the only freshman among, well, every other high school grade. Now, I won't say it was a bad class. I just don't think it was right for me.
Now, psych was another story. My teacher was Dr. George Ledger and he was epic. Like, Mr. Power/Mr. Woolsey epic, for those who know what I'm talking about.Really, I kid you not.
The discussions every day were so thoughtful, and you wouldn't believe the things beyond a person's eyeliner. The girl with the pretty smile may be a sleepwalker and maybe the girl over there is a closeted lesbian back home, and that one has a boyfriend who doesn't treat her the way he should. And you'd never know.
So, babe, I got my money's worth, along with a $1,000.00 scholarship to use, should I go to Hollins University. I know that's, like, nothing, but it basically pays back the cost of the camp, which is about $1,300.00.
Now, that's not all there is, in terms of classes. There's pottery, painting, cooking, movie-making, photography, modern dance, forensic chemistry (CSI, anyone?), and what I call the WTF classes. Examples? Leadership, So You Want to be President. Need I say more?
And, for my friends who hate gym as much as I do, you DO have to take a spot. But, hey, it was only an hour and fifteen minutes. I took soccer, which I shouldn't have done, I admit. But I LOVED the coaches. You see, my mother and father were so amused by the idea of me playing a sport that they wanted to film it. So they could mock me. We told one of the coaches that and he said he'd film it. Jerk. And It was even harder to detest him because he gave us Popsicles. GRR...
They also have, um..., volleyball, golf, rock climbing, swimming, tennis, maybe basketball...I don;t remember. Sports mean nothing to me.
Next important? Food, then rooms, then traveling shit. Then I'll wrap it up.
Food! We ate breakfast from 8-9, then lunch was 12-1, then dinner was 5-6. It was essentially a cafeteria. (I mean, we WERE at school.) We had a bunch of options and they ALWAYS had dessert. Bottom line: the food was pretty bearable.
Rooms. You had a room, in a hall with other girls. You shared your room with one other girl and the bathroom with the rest of the hall. Six, seven toilets, three showers. You had a counselor for your hall who showed you everything. She was you go-to girl. I loved mine. She was so sweet. :) You had to be in your room by eleven. You had to be "quiet" 'til seven.
Oh! I forgot! You had homework...but it was never bad.
And I only encountered one mean girl. Like, hideously mean. :P BITCH! PS: Claire is a fat girl's name! But everyone else, was really cool, really smart, beautiful, unique, original, and had great style.
Now, travel. I live in New York, about an hour north of the city. The camp is in Roanoke County, Virginia, about an eight-hour drive from home. We stayed overnight in Maryland in the scariest motel ever. The people, my God, they were the most stereotypical people I have ever seen. Cree-pyyy.
So, in a nutshell, I'd go again. But take different classes. I'd probably take the cooking class, or an art class. And rock climbing. And, if I managed to convince you, and you are one of my girlies, I'll go wit' chu. PARTAY LIKE A RAWKSTAH!
Oh my. It looks like I just spelled it in, like, Farsi.
And to my Hollins girls, I love you. And DON'T YOU FORGET ABOUT ME....! ;)
SHOUT-OUT TO:
Morga, Kiki, Zaida, Sarah, Amanda, Erin, Tapley, Elizabeth, Celeste, Haley, Sam, Nicole, Captain Awesome, Maria, Charlotte, and if I forgot you, comment below and yell at me!
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Some More Story!! (Feel free to leave comments of critique, or positivity!)
Mallory knew she was damaged. She could accept it, too.
The endless hours of piano practice, and the early mornings where she swam laps until she was so tired she nearly drowned. She cringed at the thought of cramping fingers. She played even more now, though, the fingers accepting their fate.
From her chair with the attached desk, she looked. She looked at that glorious man, his eyes snapping with good energy, a smile hinting at the edge of his deliciously sexy lips. She knew he wasnt unhappy. She didn't want him to be either. No one deserved the parents that screamed when she asked to go a school dance. The ones that homeschooled her so she would become the best pianist of all time. Or the most socially awkward, manly-bodied girl this college had ever seen.
This would never have been her first choice. She knew another college would give her a musical scholarship too. But her she was, forty minutes from home, surprise visits so easy. All-girls to prevent distractions. Mallory looked at Professor Ridger. So much for no distractions.... She smiled dreamily.
Another girl, Christa, spoke. "Professor, it's past noon."
Mallory looked at the other girls. Some looked bored, tired, anxious, and hungry. It was time to eat. He quickly dismissed the class with an apologetic smile. She stood up, about to leave with the other girls, when a tiny, dirty-blonde woman ran in.
"Hey Lars--you forgot something," she smiled as she spoke. She held out a brown paper bag with "Ridger" written on it in swirly cursive.
"Thanks, babe," he gave her a light kiss on the lips. She seemed to glow with the simple show of affection.
"You had better," she said putting a hand on her stomach, which bulged slightly out of her dress, the plum-colored cotton fluttering in the air conditioning. Mallory's breath caught under her tongue. She slung her bag over one shoulder and walked out of the room as quickly as she could without her chunky white sneaker squeaking on the hardwood floors. She flew down the stairs, and out the door. She slid into the grass, her back against the rusty red brick of the hall.
She knew he loved another. The pictures on the desk. A woman in dazzling white, next to him. The only word that would come to her mind was horribly old-fashioned: dashing. She knew he couldn't love her. Not publicly, not now. He was still her teacher, though there wasnt much he could teach her; her piano skills were superior to his, she knew. Something she could blame on the obsessive parents, too selfish to see her.
The people who saw only a beautiful girl sitting at a piano in a sold-out arena. A beautiful rhapsody, or perhaps a symphony. Her broad swimmer's body was not beautiful or delicate. The failure choked her up; wouldn't ever be what her parents desired of her. She grabbed at her dry, short black hair. It was so ugly.
But, at that moment, it was not why she felt distraught. That woman, she was petite, with dark blonde hair that curled just past her shoulders. Beautiful. Everything she wasn't.
That bothered Mallory the way a rainstorm would bother a spider building a web. Almost terminally.
The endless hours of piano practice, and the early mornings where she swam laps until she was so tired she nearly drowned. She cringed at the thought of cramping fingers. She played even more now, though, the fingers accepting their fate.
From her chair with the attached desk, she looked. She looked at that glorious man, his eyes snapping with good energy, a smile hinting at the edge of his deliciously sexy lips. She knew he wasnt unhappy. She didn't want him to be either. No one deserved the parents that screamed when she asked to go a school dance. The ones that homeschooled her so she would become the best pianist of all time. Or the most socially awkward, manly-bodied girl this college had ever seen.
This would never have been her first choice. She knew another college would give her a musical scholarship too. But her she was, forty minutes from home, surprise visits so easy. All-girls to prevent distractions. Mallory looked at Professor Ridger. So much for no distractions.... She smiled dreamily.
Another girl, Christa, spoke. "Professor, it's past noon."
Mallory looked at the other girls. Some looked bored, tired, anxious, and hungry. It was time to eat. He quickly dismissed the class with an apologetic smile. She stood up, about to leave with the other girls, when a tiny, dirty-blonde woman ran in.
"Hey Lars--you forgot something," she smiled as she spoke. She held out a brown paper bag with "Ridger" written on it in swirly cursive.
"Thanks, babe," he gave her a light kiss on the lips. She seemed to glow with the simple show of affection.
"You had better," she said putting a hand on her stomach, which bulged slightly out of her dress, the plum-colored cotton fluttering in the air conditioning. Mallory's breath caught under her tongue. She slung her bag over one shoulder and walked out of the room as quickly as she could without her chunky white sneaker squeaking on the hardwood floors. She flew down the stairs, and out the door. She slid into the grass, her back against the rusty red brick of the hall.
She knew he loved another. The pictures on the desk. A woman in dazzling white, next to him. The only word that would come to her mind was horribly old-fashioned: dashing. She knew he couldn't love her. Not publicly, not now. He was still her teacher, though there wasnt much he could teach her; her piano skills were superior to his, she knew. Something she could blame on the obsessive parents, too selfish to see her.
The people who saw only a beautiful girl sitting at a piano in a sold-out arena. A beautiful rhapsody, or perhaps a symphony. Her broad swimmer's body was not beautiful or delicate. The failure choked her up; wouldn't ever be what her parents desired of her. She grabbed at her dry, short black hair. It was so ugly.
But, at that moment, it was not why she felt distraught. That woman, she was petite, with dark blonde hair that curled just past her shoulders. Beautiful. Everything she wasn't.
That bothered Mallory the way a rainstorm would bother a spider building a web. Almost terminally.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
A Leetle Bit of My Current WIP for Nadine!!
I didn't find her. I knew later I was supposed to, but I didn't. Two girls came in for extra help. One I assisted at the classroom's piano, the other I sent to a private practice room, I'd send for her in a little while.
The room that girl decided to walk into was simply chance.
A scream that's pitch far exceeded the insturment's highest note flooded through the hall. Hurried footsteps clomped down the stairs and the hysterically sobbing girl flung herself back into the room, ending the warmup, Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, on a hideous note. We jumped from the stool and ran to her. I braced my hands on her shoulder, trying to calm her incredible shaking.
"What? Christa, what is it," the other girl nearly screamed. I saw the volume add to my student's shock and terror, which would make it that much harder to remedy the situation.
I turned and shushed the girl. I looked back at Christa and said, as calmly as I could, "What was upstairs?"
She continued to cry for another full five minutes. After she calmed, one glistening tear stil sat on the tip of her nose, refusing to fall. She whispered, with a voice so low an haunting that it froze the very marrow of my bones, what was there.
I saw that girl, THE girl again. Her black hair, hanging straight and dry on her shoulders, her dead gray eyes, her androgynous form contesting mine. I remembered those cold eyes glinting with their only emotion: insanity. I saw her chasing my car, her fingers curved like claws.
My voice dropped to Christa's level, "What?"
She looked at me, her eyes widening. But it was okay, her eyes were a vivid blue, not gray.
"Call the police."
The room that girl decided to walk into was simply chance.
A scream that's pitch far exceeded the insturment's highest note flooded through the hall. Hurried footsteps clomped down the stairs and the hysterically sobbing girl flung herself back into the room, ending the warmup, Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, on a hideous note. We jumped from the stool and ran to her. I braced my hands on her shoulder, trying to calm her incredible shaking.
"What? Christa, what is it," the other girl nearly screamed. I saw the volume add to my student's shock and terror, which would make it that much harder to remedy the situation.
I turned and shushed the girl. I looked back at Christa and said, as calmly as I could, "What was upstairs?"
She continued to cry for another full five minutes. After she calmed, one glistening tear stil sat on the tip of her nose, refusing to fall. She whispered, with a voice so low an haunting that it froze the very marrow of my bones, what was there.
I saw that girl, THE girl again. Her black hair, hanging straight and dry on her shoulders, her dead gray eyes, her androgynous form contesting mine. I remembered those cold eyes glinting with their only emotion: insanity. I saw her chasing my car, her fingers curved like claws.
My voice dropped to Christa's level, "What?"
She looked at me, her eyes widening. But it was okay, her eyes were a vivid blue, not gray.
"Call the police."
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Yes, Yes, Kim Can Be Fangirlyy
Okay, okay. I'm not fangirly for almost everything, but there are some things that cannot be denied in their awesomeness/sexiness:
--Shane Dawson. Can you not love his emo hair and cross-dressing skits?
--Billy Joel, but I've mentioned him before. He is awesome, but I do not find men over 60 attractive. (Patrick Swayze was 57, God bless his soul.)
--Michael Bublé. Amazing voice, amazing sexiness, and an amazing concert. (Better than Billy Joel!!!)
Yeah, and he looks soooo good in suits. *drool*
--The show Supernatural, or, more specifically Jensen Ackles!!! He exudes sexiness, but to watch him act....You can see the talent and amazingness.
The list goes on...
But not far.
It stops efore the J's, like...Justin Bieber, Jonas Brothers, etc...
--Shane Dawson. Can you not love his emo hair and cross-dressing skits?
--Billy Joel, but I've mentioned him before. He is awesome, but I do not find men over 60 attractive. (Patrick Swayze was 57, God bless his soul.)
--Michael Bublé. Amazing voice, amazing sexiness, and an amazing concert. (Better than Billy Joel!!!)
Yeah, and he looks soooo good in suits. *drool*
--The show Supernatural, or, more specifically Jensen Ackles!!! He exudes sexiness, but to watch him act....You can see the talent and amazingness.
The list goes on...
But not far.
It stops efore the J's, like...Justin Bieber, Jonas Brothers, etc...
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Hey Guys! Here's the thing...
HEY GUYS,
I'm going to camp eight hours away from the 11-23. I'm leaving today and I'll be back on the 24th!!! I promise, pics and everything. And don't bother coming to rob my house, people are still here. My dad and bros...
I'm taking a writing course and I'll reveal my amazing college writing skills/tips when I get back. Even though Sam and Nadine don't need them, yeah, yeah.
SHUT UP!!
Love you all forever,
Kim.
PS: Sam, I got shiver. This better be worth it.
PSTHESECOND: I'll try to post during my free time. No promises, though. I have alot of work.
I'm going to camp eight hours away from the 11-23. I'm leaving today and I'll be back on the 24th!!! I promise, pics and everything. And don't bother coming to rob my house, people are still here. My dad and bros...
I'm taking a writing course and I'll reveal my amazing college writing skills/tips when I get back. Even though Sam and Nadine don't need them, yeah, yeah.
SHUT UP!!
Love you all forever,
Kim.
PS: Sam, I got shiver. This better be worth it.
PSTHESECOND: I'll try to post during my free time. No promises, though. I have alot of work.
Monday, June 28, 2010
To the Sky, From the Earth...
I think I already told you guys that I'm, like, totally into astro-stuff. Basically, I think everything beyond us is insaney epic. So, I would like to inform you of something that would be considered cool by someone who isn't necessarily into that kind of thing.
I have a brother. His name is Eric. He is very cute and on Saturday my wittle baby bruver turned 10!!! (I'm still in shock.) He wanted to go to NYC and to the museum of Natural History.
Well, they have these soecial exhibits, like any other museum and my brother wanted to go into this one called Journey to the Stars.
Ah-frickin'-mazing. It was in the Hayden Planetarium and it was narrated by Whoopi Goldberg. (In case you kids were wondering where she went after those doughnut commercials.)
First of all, the quality was amazing. If I wasn't breathing I could've believed that I was truly in space.
Here's what I learned (Or an extension of what I already knew):
-We depend on the sun because it is the closest star.
-In space there a bunch of things called dwarves. White, brown...
-The sun will die out in about 4 billion years, but by then we will have evolved in ways that we can only imagine now, or have already left planet Earth.
-Supernovas are the explosions of giant stars.
-The sun is actually a yellow star, one of medium heat, rather than a red one (lowest heat) or a blue one (highest amount of heat)
-The sun has about four layers. At the very center there are a bunch of atoms that move thousands of miles an hour and smash into each other CONSTANTLY and that's how the sun has continuous energy.
-Magnetic waves from the sun's radiation can move at 1 million miles an hour.
Productive day. Whoopi also went over the planets and when she didn't say Pluto there was a murmur of "Poor Pluto" throughout. :(
You still gotta learn stuff in the summer.
I have a brother. His name is Eric. He is very cute and on Saturday my wittle baby bruver turned 10!!! (I'm still in shock.) He wanted to go to NYC and to the museum of Natural History.
Well, they have these soecial exhibits, like any other museum and my brother wanted to go into this one called Journey to the Stars.
Ah-frickin'-mazing. It was in the Hayden Planetarium and it was narrated by Whoopi Goldberg. (In case you kids were wondering where she went after those doughnut commercials.)
First of all, the quality was amazing. If I wasn't breathing I could've believed that I was truly in space.
Here's what I learned (Or an extension of what I already knew):
-We depend on the sun because it is the closest star.
-In space there a bunch of things called dwarves. White, brown...
-The sun will die out in about 4 billion years, but by then we will have evolved in ways that we can only imagine now, or have already left planet Earth.
-Supernovas are the explosions of giant stars.
-The sun is actually a yellow star, one of medium heat, rather than a red one (lowest heat) or a blue one (highest amount of heat)
-The sun has about four layers. At the very center there are a bunch of atoms that move thousands of miles an hour and smash into each other CONSTANTLY and that's how the sun has continuous energy.
-Magnetic waves from the sun's radiation can move at 1 million miles an hour.
Productive day. Whoopi also went over the planets and when she didn't say Pluto there was a murmur of "Poor Pluto" throughout. :(
You still gotta learn stuff in the summer.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
and soo it begins...
Summer is usually met with excitement. That turns into fear when my mother goes on a rant about whycan'tyoudothis whywon'tyoudothat, cleanthatup, watchyourbrother, DO--NO--DON'TDO!!!
I forgot. I think that everyone does. I just heard her yelling. Maybe I should let some family shit off of my chest.
MY BROTHER (LITTLE): Very cute. Perhaps a tad spoiled, as he is the youngest, and definitely the favorite of my mother. Mommy'sbabybabybaby. If you ask sissysissysissy, she thinks it's a load of bull. Mommy did it twice, why is it so special now? More or less, it bothers me that he is ten and stills relys on mommy, nana, or Kimmy to get him a glass of milk. I say no, I'm the one at fault. Sorry Mom. I know he's your baby but he's too old to crawl into bed with you in the middle of the night.
MY BROTHER (OLDER): Quiet. Video-game addicted. Spoiledspoiledspoiled. Does what he wants and is rpoud of the number of times he has failed stuff in Italian. Noms on money the way I like to nom on Oreos. Nummmynummy. He's a meatheaded wrestler, huge, muscular and mean. HE IS MEAN. Intentionally nasty towards me, wholly depricating of me. He just doesn't know what to do with himself, I think.
MY MOTHER: Generally a very nice lady. But, you know, every mother has her hard spot. NO don'tdothis, dothis, cleancleanclean, Ihatetoclean. In my opinion, if she didn't want to do this, then she shouldn't have gotten married. Or she shouldn't have stopped working and gotten us a nanny OR just shouldn't've had kids. She also tends to exaggerate, rip ot half of my right eyebrow, and go iver the line when teasing me.
MY FATHER: The strict one. TheonlyreasonKimmygotBillyJoelticketsisbecauseDaddydidn'tshowupuptoherFatherDaughterDanceforGirlScouts. He will blame my mother for anything that goes wrong and it pisses me off. Sometimes I feel like he doesn't even see my face. He just wants me to excellexceedbebetterthantheotherpeople.
Now, I know I'm not a perfect person ton live with. I have my moments, my funks, my emotions and styles anf ticks and ways of doing things. Sometuimes I just get tired of worrying that it;s just me.
I love my family VERYYYY much, but they do drive me insane like any other family. WEe are what we are, and sometimes it get frustrating to deal with.
*PS...THE ONLY PERSON WHO CAN SAY ANYTHING ABOUT MY FAMILY IS ME!!! THEY ARE THE FIRST PEOPLE I WILL DEFEND AND THE PEOPLE I LOVE THE MOST IN THE WORLD.
I forgot. I think that everyone does. I just heard her yelling. Maybe I should let some family shit off of my chest.
MY BROTHER (LITTLE): Very cute. Perhaps a tad spoiled, as he is the youngest, and definitely the favorite of my mother. Mommy'sbabybabybaby. If you ask sissysissysissy, she thinks it's a load of bull. Mommy did it twice, why is it so special now? More or less, it bothers me that he is ten and stills relys on mommy, nana, or Kimmy to get him a glass of milk. I say no, I'm the one at fault. Sorry Mom. I know he's your baby but he's too old to crawl into bed with you in the middle of the night.
MY BROTHER (OLDER): Quiet. Video-game addicted. Spoiledspoiledspoiled. Does what he wants and is rpoud of the number of times he has failed stuff in Italian. Noms on money the way I like to nom on Oreos. Nummmynummy. He's a meatheaded wrestler, huge, muscular and mean. HE IS MEAN. Intentionally nasty towards me, wholly depricating of me. He just doesn't know what to do with himself, I think.
MY MOTHER: Generally a very nice lady. But, you know, every mother has her hard spot. NO don'tdothis, dothis, cleancleanclean, Ihatetoclean. In my opinion, if she didn't want to do this, then she shouldn't have gotten married. Or she shouldn't have stopped working and gotten us a nanny OR just shouldn't've had kids. She also tends to exaggerate, rip ot half of my right eyebrow, and go iver the line when teasing me.
MY FATHER: The strict one. TheonlyreasonKimmygotBillyJoelticketsisbecauseDaddydidn'tshowupuptoherFatherDaughterDanceforGirlScouts. He will blame my mother for anything that goes wrong and it pisses me off. Sometimes I feel like he doesn't even see my face. He just wants me to excellexceedbebetterthantheotherpeople.
Now, I know I'm not a perfect person ton live with. I have my moments, my funks, my emotions and styles anf ticks and ways of doing things. Sometuimes I just get tired of worrying that it;s just me.
I love my family VERYYYY much, but they do drive me insane like any other family. WEe are what we are, and sometimes it get frustrating to deal with.
*PS...THE ONLY PERSON WHO CAN SAY ANYTHING ABOUT MY FAMILY IS ME!!! THEY ARE THE FIRST PEOPLE I WILL DEFEND AND THE PEOPLE I LOVE THE MOST IN THE WORLD.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Which version of "Grotto" do you like the best?
1st Person
The candles glowed, but when I stuck my hand to the flame of one, I felt no heat. Fog rolled onto the rocky surface of the underground cave and spread a layer onto my skin. Yet it didn’t feel stifling. It felt cool, wintry. It was wet, like early morning, same as the rest of this unfamiliar shoreline. I stepped closer the translucent lake creating the foggy tendrils, and as I lifted one I heard a seam rip.
I swirled around as I was inches from falling off of the edge of the cliff jutting out of the side of the grotto. My miraculous spin was not my own work, though.
Hands caught me, holding to my waist with an anxious fierceness. They held me tighter as I was spun around. I no longer faced outward at the mysterious lake. I now stared at a jagged side of the cave. The hands loosened their grasp around me, and I could feel the body of a man behind me.
At the same moment, we both sighed. My savior’s was filled with an obvious relief. I could feel the emotion surround me, but it did not penetrate my mindset. My sigh was in irritation at my own negligence.
After both of our exhales concluded, I was let go. I took a couple of steps away from this hero in an underworld. I turned to look at him, to know and remember him.
My glance lasted scarcely longer than the time it takes to stretch your arms out in the invitation of an embrace. He did just that, but went a step further than a simple request. He pulled me to his chest and I rested my head against him, momentarily shocked by this whole experience, and tired.
I trusted him in these few fleeting seconds, with my own life. Even though I did not know this secretive man of caverns, candles, and lakes.
He whispered in my ear, “I prefer you not drown while with me.”
And I knew who he was.
2nd Person
Candles glow all around you but as you raise your hand above a flame you feel no burn. Mist rolls onto the rocks around you and is pasted to your skin. But it doesn’t feel unpleasant. It feels cool, a pleasing zephyr in this bizarre underground world. You step closer to the lake which the steam rolls off of and step on the hem of your garment.
You turn around, seconds before you would have tumbled off of the edge of this tiny grotto. But that majestic twirl, you did not do.
Hands catch you at the waist and spin you until all you see is the rough side of the cavern. You and your savior both let out sighs, deep from the way each of you held your breath when you almost toppled over. You can tell his overflows with relief. Yours reflects the annoyance you feel toward your own disregard.
The hands that pulled you from a very dangerous loosen after a moment of initial uncertainty; you step back. You break his grip on your waist and take another step back to look at his face.
You have about five seconds--not enough time to analyze or recognize--before he presses you against him in an embrace which hides his face from view. The glance you get, though, was not one you immediately identify. But it was not completely unfamiliar, either.
You feel a recognizable sense of trust, sweetly lingering between the two of you. This feeling is one you’ve only felt once before. You know it; him.
And that assumption grows beyond doubt when he whispers in your ear, “I prefer you not drown while with me.”
3rd Person
The candles glowed, but as she stepped closer to a single, enormous stick, it didn’t feel hot. Mist rolled on the rocky surface and was pasted to her, but it didn’t feel sticky. It felt cool. It felt damp, like this underground kingdom. She stepped closer to the lake producing the cool steam, and tripped over the hem of her skirt.
She whirled around seconds before she would have fallen off of the ledge in the cavern. But the turn was not her work.
Hands caught her at the waist, and frantically spun her until she saw the jagged edge of one “wall in this grotto. After, a moment which each spent letting out a sigh. Of relief, for her unknown savior but she spent that breath in annoyance towards her own stupidity.
After that moment, the hands, which stayed in place, let her go one step form him. She turned to look at his face, breaking the grip he still held.
She had no more than several seconds to glance because he suddenly reached out and took her into his arms, blocking her view. But what she saw were familiar features with a stranger’s expression. No matter, she knew she had seen the face before.
She was sure.
But all doubts erased from her mind when he whispered in her ear, “I prefer you don’t drown while with me.”
The candles glowed, but when I stuck my hand to the flame of one, I felt no heat. Fog rolled onto the rocky surface of the underground cave and spread a layer onto my skin. Yet it didn’t feel stifling. It felt cool, wintry. It was wet, like early morning, same as the rest of this unfamiliar shoreline. I stepped closer the translucent lake creating the foggy tendrils, and as I lifted one I heard a seam rip.
I swirled around as I was inches from falling off of the edge of the cliff jutting out of the side of the grotto. My miraculous spin was not my own work, though.
Hands caught me, holding to my waist with an anxious fierceness. They held me tighter as I was spun around. I no longer faced outward at the mysterious lake. I now stared at a jagged side of the cave. The hands loosened their grasp around me, and I could feel the body of a man behind me.
At the same moment, we both sighed. My savior’s was filled with an obvious relief. I could feel the emotion surround me, but it did not penetrate my mindset. My sigh was in irritation at my own negligence.
After both of our exhales concluded, I was let go. I took a couple of steps away from this hero in an underworld. I turned to look at him, to know and remember him.
My glance lasted scarcely longer than the time it takes to stretch your arms out in the invitation of an embrace. He did just that, but went a step further than a simple request. He pulled me to his chest and I rested my head against him, momentarily shocked by this whole experience, and tired.
I trusted him in these few fleeting seconds, with my own life. Even though I did not know this secretive man of caverns, candles, and lakes.
He whispered in my ear, “I prefer you not drown while with me.”
And I knew who he was.
2nd Person
Candles glow all around you but as you raise your hand above a flame you feel no burn. Mist rolls onto the rocks around you and is pasted to your skin. But it doesn’t feel unpleasant. It feels cool, a pleasing zephyr in this bizarre underground world. You step closer to the lake which the steam rolls off of and step on the hem of your garment.
You turn around, seconds before you would have tumbled off of the edge of this tiny grotto. But that majestic twirl, you did not do.
Hands catch you at the waist and spin you until all you see is the rough side of the cavern. You and your savior both let out sighs, deep from the way each of you held your breath when you almost toppled over. You can tell his overflows with relief. Yours reflects the annoyance you feel toward your own disregard.
The hands that pulled you from a very dangerous loosen after a moment of initial uncertainty; you step back. You break his grip on your waist and take another step back to look at his face.
You have about five seconds--not enough time to analyze or recognize--before he presses you against him in an embrace which hides his face from view. The glance you get, though, was not one you immediately identify. But it was not completely unfamiliar, either.
You feel a recognizable sense of trust, sweetly lingering between the two of you. This feeling is one you’ve only felt once before. You know it; him.
And that assumption grows beyond doubt when he whispers in your ear, “I prefer you not drown while with me.”
3rd Person
The candles glowed, but as she stepped closer to a single, enormous stick, it didn’t feel hot. Mist rolled on the rocky surface and was pasted to her, but it didn’t feel sticky. It felt cool. It felt damp, like this underground kingdom. She stepped closer to the lake producing the cool steam, and tripped over the hem of her skirt.
She whirled around seconds before she would have fallen off of the ledge in the cavern. But the turn was not her work.
Hands caught her at the waist, and frantically spun her until she saw the jagged edge of one “wall in this grotto. After, a moment which each spent letting out a sigh. Of relief, for her unknown savior but she spent that breath in annoyance towards her own stupidity.
After that moment, the hands, which stayed in place, let her go one step form him. She turned to look at his face, breaking the grip he still held.
She had no more than several seconds to glance because he suddenly reached out and took her into his arms, blocking her view. But what she saw were familiar features with a stranger’s expression. No matter, she knew she had seen the face before.
She was sure.
But all doubts erased from her mind when he whispered in her ear, “I prefer you don’t drown while with me.”
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