Bring Me A Muse
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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in the "winterbliss" journal:[<< Previous 20 entries]
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12:08 pm
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Job, Justin, and much Joy
Krista. Her name is Krista. She swings her dirty blond hair around and bends down to retrieve a prize. The fake tan on her shining left buttock greets the customers. My underwear covers more than than her shorts.
Injustice. Her sales are really not fair. I tie up my shirt to my midriff once, because it is hot, you see, and HeadBitch happens to walk by. Stop being such a slut, she tells me. What she actually says is: Pull down your shirt, Gwen, but the Look says all else. Do you realize there is a naked girl across the way? I wanted to scream.
On her day off, I made progress. My cheeks were more sore than my throat. I was on fire. And it was all, Could you pick up that dollar for me, Justin, could you lick this battery? Confident, I was able to smile at Justin as he made his rounds. I no longer avoided his gaze, and he came and sat down in my booth again. My superstar status was restored.
I should've seen the pitfall hurtling my way. The next day, HeadBitch had me working a night shift. She also put me in a remote location away from all the other workers, with only one other booth for company. And would you believe it, there is another naked girl working under Justin. NakedBitch: NightShiftVersion. I was stuck with a giggling, hysterical, clothesless horror for the night, with no Justin in sight. I couldn't even watch him walk around like I usually did -- he rounded our bend only once so very often. And worst of all, there were no customers. And the sun hit our eyes directly, and I Hated Everything Vehemently.
Justin rounded our bend. I opened my mouth to greet him, but before I could, NakedBitch: NSV shrieked her delight. Justin returned the shriek, and I snapped the mardi gras beads I was holding. "Justin," she purred, "The sun is hurting my eyes." Justin threw her his own sunglasses. She screamed like she won the lottery.
"Gwen!" she squealed as if I had turned momentarily blind and deaf and could have possibly missed the display, "Justin gave me his shades! He's so nice!!"
"I'm going to kill that bitch," I say instantly. A pause, and she laughs. I do, too, a tad harshly.
What's up with you in this location? Justin says, Over there you're my superstar, here you're just a star. He smiles. Super means nothing. What is super? It's the possessive 'my' that makes my knees weak. I wonder if it's because I spend all my time nowadays craning my neck trying to glimpse Justin instead of hustling customers that I'm not up to my opening days' glory. And would you know it, I finally know his name. I had to weasel it out of NakedBitch: NSV, for shame. Still, Justin suits him better.
Friday I was back in my Enchanted Booth, complete with new toys, which my Super Sam showed me with great pride. Sam. Beautiful, beautiful man. Scrumptious, really. He looks simply lovable, in a cuddly, warm sort of way. Eyes so blue you could swim in them. One look at him, and you're vomiting cliches. Sam. He's the sort of person you'd expect to see, smiling, holding a fat baby and making some blond wife disgustingly happy.
And he has the sexy voice. Probably because he chain smokes. Which is the surprising thing about this carnival. Everyone smokes. I had no idea. Everywhere you go, people are juggling a baby on one hand and holding a smoldering ciggy with the other. And all my hot Supers smoke. Wentworth and Sam are the worst. They go around offering ciggies to everyone else. I know Justin's been with Wentworth by the smoke in his hand. But who can resist Wentworth? I've seen him at work -- one arm swung casually over Justin's shoulders, looking down into his eyes and holding the lighter to his lips.
Saturday, my Super Trevor came to fix my machine. Trevor. Beautiful, beautiful man. He speaks with a slow, soothing voice and looks at you with warm brown eyes. He climbed up above me to work his magic, his big hands working out the kinks, my eyes fixed intently upon his gorgeous bottom. There must be something in the carnival water. I have never seen so many beautiful men in one place. And I haven't even described half of all my Supers.
It started to rain. Justin came into my booth and leaned in close to be heard over the downpour. I was too busy drinking in his gold-green eyes and the tiny freckles over his nose to hear what he said. That day, I met his siblings. Turns out, they are my fellow coworkers. I was shocked. They were both annoying and very unfortunate in the looks department. It's horribly unfair, isn't it, how that turns out sometimes. It's like the parents used up all the good materials creating the first one, the perfect one, but they kept going, compromising themselves and creating sickly mutations from dirty scraps.
I happen to have a provocative repose stance, it seems. Just like my neutral face is one of utter desolation ('Oh my God, what happened?' people ask.) -- when I relax, I look like a hooker. There I was, taking a slight break and leaning casually against my game, when three thirteen year old boys came up to me, snickering, and said, "Are you trying to seduce us?" I was scandalized. And the other day, when I was waiting for the bus to get to work, I suppose I swung my hair back a bit because it was hot, and suddenly this SUV stops in the middle of the road, and some smarmy guy runs over and badgers me for five minutes for a number. But you meet people like that all the time in my field of work -- drunk college kids who want sexual favors instead of teddy bear prizes. It keeps me amused.
Speaking of public transits -- I am commuting three, four hours a day. You get to see a lot of interesting people, which isn't always good. One terrible day a ginormously obese man walked onto the bus, smelling of diaherrea poured on hot sausages. Nobody bothered with niceties. It was two hands slapped over nose and mouth at once. One woman almost fainted. Fat Man looked around blearily and said nothing. Another day, I sat behind a woman with her child, the mother too tired to give a shit about her kid, who was leaning out the window and picking bogies out of her nose. Which she then smeared across the windows, collecting all sorts of bacteria and HIV viruses for all she knows and then licking the remnants from her fingers. "Oh my God," I said in quiet horror as one bogie sailed dangerously close to my head. Another day two guys were locked in a ridiculous battle over Who Has the Shittier Life. It was all, 'I'm living in a shelter and my fucking girlfriend's pregnant' 'Yeah? Well, I got five bucks left in my wallet and I almost fucking died from crack overdose last week'. This went on and on. I tried my very hardest not to laugh wildly.
Things were going well at work. I got friendlier and friendlier with my Supers. Even Dreadlocks, Wentworth's friend who looks like he'd punch you in the face as soon as you look at him, turned out to be (like Wentworth) a nice softie on the inside. He pats me like a pet dog, though.
I told Mother of my success. She laughed in my face. So silly, she said patronizingly, Justin probably tells everyone they're his favorite worker.
She came to meet me one day after work so I could finally see the shows and enjoy the fair for myself. Except she was half an hour late. My own mother stood me up, it seemed at first. Justin laughed and laughed. And then when she did finally get there, she kept getting sidetracked by Bingo games and half-naked showgirls. And she still gets mad when I accuse her of being a flaming, flaming lesbian. What do you know about gays, she says superiorily.
I have a girl-crush on one of my coworkers, Ash. She is so cute. We gush about the Smokin'Supers in hysterics. She makes me want to braid friendship bracelets. And that's the thing about this job. I don't know if I want to work in a quiet coffee shop for much better pay anymore. There's nothing like interacting with people for six hours straight -- talking to customers, hanging out with coworkers, and stalking my Supers.
But enough about my job. I could rant about that for days. School is starting soon, and like usual, I just feel badly if I'm not overworking myself. And thanks to the Awessissimo-ness of Fluffy#1, I am now able to take on a disgustingly heavy amount of ExtraCoursework for no credit at all. Fourteenth century trade routes are my idea of a good time. Did I mention Fluffy is Really Really Awesome? Anyway. That is all. I am off to work soon -- which really shouldn't be such an exciting prospect.
Current Mood:  listless
Current Music: Happy Humming of Laptop
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08:26 pm
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Check Out My Warez
First off, I would like to wish Mr. Edward Harrison Norton a very happy albeit belated 38th birthday. I was going to post this on the day (August 18th) but work got in the way.
And to establish things properly, I must speak briefly on the subject of my Heart's One True Love. Or rather, the Love I've Loved Longest: ( Harry Potter. )
Because I am still a very prominent co-creator of Procrastination Ahoy, very proactive yessir, I waited until the last second to hunt for that easy summer job to pull in some much needed monies. Maybe I sit in a nice bookshop and handle beautiful tomes all day. Maybe I make coffee in a quiet, serene atmosphere with jazzy music playing in the background. But I waited too long. Naturally, my hundreds of resumes sent out meant nothing. And this is how I landed a job with the city's summer carnival.
Looking back now, I should have seen the clues. Perhaps the fact that I received a response just hours after I emailed my resume should have alerted me. Perhaps the fact that on the day of my interview, I was immediately and wordlessly handed a contractual form, ‘you have a job, thank you very much, you may go home’ should have made me suspicious. But they needed people. And so after a horrible training session in which I completely lost my head during the trial run and dumped an entire wad of money onto the customer's lap, screwed up the game after countless demonstrations, and then swore loudly on the microphone, I was handed a uniform by my smiling supervisor.
And let me just describe my supervisors. I've got one Head Bitch. In her forties, looks like. Real power lady. She controls all. I always make sure to look real alert whenever she's making her rounds.
But that's just one person. I have about six supervisors apart from her. And all of them. Look. Like. Strippers. One of them IS a stripper. She swung around a pole absentmindedly during training and then told us coquettishly of her little side job. The remaining Supers are males. And they are hot. Insanely hot. Brutally hot. Distracting sort of hot.
It's really quite strange, my job. I work in a gigantic, million-person-a-day, enormous-expanse-of-space-set-aside-just-for-use-for-one-month-annually carnival, all day long, walking back and forth in my water racing booth, talking for eight hours straight on a microphone in the most annoying announcer voice I have. Saying things like, "Yooou can't win if yooou don't play", "Come on over and be a winner, folks", and "Don't be shy, give it a try -- I'll give you a pur-riiize". And that's with syllables dragged out, cheesy as possible. In the first ten minutes, you feel slightly scandalized. You are selling yourself! Competing against the others for some very apathetic customers! After the first hour, self-pride is a foreign concept to you. You become part of the scene. It's expected of you. Who talks like a normal human anymore? That's just weird.
But around Hour Six, your lips are chapped, your throat is burning, your thigh muscles have seized up from six hours of pacing and bending down to retrieve prizes, and you've got a permanent scar where your headset is digging into your skull. Also, your colloquials become erratic. You stop in the middle of sentences, you say things like, "It's very easy to win, all you have to do is sit on down and then have a seat, and walk away with a ladies and gentlemen". But who's listening, really. The announcer voice makes everything almost unintelligible, anyway.
They actually had a Super walk around to every booth and coach each of us individually on Shamelessness. The Super that looks like Wentworth Miller. Out of all the hot Supers, Wentworth is the hottest. Now, it doesn't seem like much when you see the actual Wentworth on the television screen, but when you know one in real life, it's very impressive. Wentworth is very good at being Shameless. He actually addresses individual people as they walk by. He can talk nonstop for half an hour, ad libbing. Really impressive stuff.
My main Super is Justin. Or I call him Justin because I don't know his real name. Mostly, I address him as "BeautifulMan" in my head. And sometimes whispered into my microphone. All the Supers introduced themselves personally, and I remember all of their names -- except for the two hottest Supers: Wentworth and Justin. I shook hands with the both of them with a dizzy fangirlish head. And really, it's just rude to ask them now. They even have nicknames for me, and I don't even know their names. It's really embarrasing.
The first three days were fantastic. Justin would walk by and smile warmly, how you doin', nod and wave. Shameless agrees with me, it turns out, and I made many, many sales. "How's my superstar," Justin would say, "How's it going, champ?" He would vault into my booth every so often, spend some time. I was in heaven, never mind my bleeding feet and throbbing throat. There is a certain pleasure in knowing that he was not nearly as friendly with anyone else.
I wasn't even so worried about the girl in the booth beside me, who seems to think that an inch of skin covered is an inch of skin wasted, the heinous naked bitch. But HeadBitch gave me a day off. I had it coming, working for nine hours straight because I'm a good seller and all. But still. In that one day that I was gone, it seems NakedBitch moved in on my territory. Today I come back to find her naked self spreading her naked wiles all over a laughing Justin. How do I compete with NakedBitch? She's freakin' naked!
And worst of all, HeadBitch switched me. I had a thing going with my booth. I was all established. It was my home. It's got Enchantment all over it. Today I was moved to some crappy booth in a crappy location with crappy prizes no one wants. Justin didn't call me fondly by a nickname at all today. I fear he is slowly realizing that it may not be me, but the Enchanted Booth that works the SalesMagic. But it's not fair! I enchanted it! You have no idea how hard my first day was.
Anyway, I was in a rut. And depressed all over the place. NakedBitch and a distant Justin added to a Normal Booth put me off my game. All that extra time with hair and makeup went wasted. But I shall have my revenge. It is NakedBitch's day off tomorrow. Time to reclaim some territory.
I am slowly going insane on this job. But you do meet some very interesting people. One lady plopped herself right down on a seat, looked at me patronzingly over her glasses, and informed me that I was on the wrong end of a bad deal here, that I should be paid more, informed me of a number of places currently hiring, and then mapped out my next four years for me in a severe but grandmotherly fashion. Then there was a lady who conned me into giving her two prizes. Which unfortunately was caught by my Super, but which also was smoothed over by some quick lying by the ingenious yours truly.
There you have it. I've no time to myself, I'm away fourteen hours a day, I'm locked in a delirious battle with a naked girl for the attentions of stripping authority figures, and school is starting soon.
Current Mood:  tired
Current Music: Oldies
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05:16 pm
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It's The End...
I just had to post this despite my customary wait-half-a-year-before-updating routine. Right now, like many people, I expect (Kiara in particular), I feel like I can't do anything. I tried reading a Potter book. Couldn't. Tried reading Maya. Couldn't. All I can do is sit and wait.
How does one person do it? How does one person have the stamina to plow on forward with precision and endless ingenuity for seventeen years? We've all waited. Speculated. Formed educational societies, international conventions, built entire businesses around one woman's unbelievable world. Which makes me so angry when assholes run around screaming "Snape kills Dumbledore", when the New York Times buys an early copy of Deathly Hallows and reveals major spoilers in a review and then publishes a rebuttal declaring their actions completely legal and right in response to the overwhelming flow of angry letters from fans. Sure, it's legal. But it's so goddamn tasteless. Tabloids do these things. Not the freaking New York Times. They must be idiots. Couldn't they see what this does to their image, at the very least?!
Spoilers are everywhere. There are definitely people who go around HP LJ communities and post nasty things, but worse than that, you find spoilers in the most unexpected places. The Times and even Wikipedia! Without so much as an big Spoilers Alert! And I thought I was safe. But today I saw something on Wiki's Harry Potter page, and it shocked me enough so that I forced myself to forget it. Seriously. I don't even really remember it anymore, such is the amazing power of my brilliant mind. Just. Don't go there.
And as long as I'm on the track of Things That Piss Me Off (and now I am reminded of a similar rant I handed in, years ago, to my English teacher with the words formatted in the shape of a Nimbus 2001), I also strongly dislike people who will attack Harry Potter and Harry Potter fans for utterly stupid reasons. People who look at Mary Grandpre's (awesome) artwork, read the woefully inadequate summary, and immediately catagorize Harry Potter as a book for children ages 9-12 <--says that on Amazon, actually. It's rather cute to dress a little kid up in a Harry Potter costume and show that on TV whenever Harry Potter is mentioned, but I seriously doubt the children 9-12 are even mature enough to deal with everything in Potterverse.
People who insult it without ever touching it are the worst kind. I've spent half my life telling those people off. This goes for everything. Scorning something while totally ignorant just makes you a complete moron. Read Victorian romances before you burn your Bronte, you know? (I hate Emily, though I am all right with Charlotte.) And God knows I can't stand Star Wars, but I've made myself watch every episode before I felt justified in mocking Star Wars fans to scorn. Because mocking is all right with me. Hate Harry Potter, but have a real reason to. Don't knock it 'til you've tried it.
But this post is about celebrating a decade of enchantment. Try to remember the first time you read Sorcerer's Stone. It was so strange and weird and wonderful, and that's what you get when you read Harry Potter for the first time. Which was why I was so anal about HBP two years ago. And Deathly Hallows will be no different. Soon, it will be in my hands and I will laugh and gasp and cry at ordinary sentences because Harry Potter makes me absurdly emotional, Deathly Hallows especially so since it is the End and all. (DH: 'Twas a dull, grey morning when Harry awoke the next day.. ME: *sobbing* DULL AND GREY! Oh, God, I just can't take it! *blows nose*)
Oh, the detail! The magical objects! The diverse characters! It's so easy to step into Jo's world. Harry Potter is a fantasy series, but they are the most believable books I have ever picked up. There's just so much to explore here. I find something new with each rereading, I pick up on a different theme, a new idea exposes itself to me. And there's so much left to discover. Jo says she feels bereaved. Same all around the world. It's bittersweet. I wished this day would never come. I hope the frenzy will never die down, peter out when there is nothing left to speculate.
It's been a refuge for me, Jo's world. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Tonight, at 6:50 EST (3:50 AZ) watch Jo read a bit of Deathly Hallows from London here.
With just hours now to go, here's the most recent JKR appearance for the wait:
Second part here.
Goodness, I'm about to piss myself in excitement. Just a bit farther to go. After waiting for all these years, a couple hours suddenly seems so cruel! Try to enjoy your last moments of torturous ignorance, when everything is still possible, your OTP ship has not been sunk, and Draco and Harry realize their everlasting love in the beautiful and tantalizing tome dangling at the end of the road.
Current Mood:  melancholy
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08:24 pm
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You Mean To Tell Me I'm Not SuperGirl?
I was under the impression I could do everything.
In the beginning of the year, I plunged myself into everything and anything plungeable. I will have a brilliantly fulfilling year, I said with determination, frothing slightly at the mouth.
And indeed, I've kept busy. My precious LJ has been heartlessly forgotten, and now I find that I have hardly anything to report, as it's been so long, and I can only rant when the subjects of my rants are fresh in mind.
I'm amazing when it comes to balancing time. I will find the time to do everything I could possibly want to do, but there are times when the Nature puts her foot down sternly, pulls me aside, and says, "Look, I'm quite fond of you, but I shant let you carry on like this. I'm sorry, I won't allow you to go on this trip with your choir and also pass well on this test. I mean, I’ve got laws, you know. What about the Laws of Nature?" "Sod them," I respond cheekily. At which point Mother Nature backhands me and orders a fifteen-minute Time Out. And ironically enough, in those fifteen minutes, she spitefully suspends her Laws, and I have all the time in the world to do anything I want, except I can't, for I am on Nature!Probation, so I bury my face in the crook of my elbow and weep for the injustice of it all.
Times like that. Last year, I was the star pupil. Quiet, modest, and such a wonderful musician, yours truly. I swept away the end-of-year plaque easily. Frankly, it was a miracle I was able to keep up the facade for that long. This year, it was disappointment after disappointment for my lovely idol, my esteemed choral director, who I swear is nearing 50, and has breasts as perky as a 16-year-old's. She's lovely and gifted and so very pretty, and I adore her very very much. But I couldn't help it -- play rehearsals, council meetings, class stood in my way. And excuses including "But I'm the female lead, I can't -- ", "But see here, I'm president -- " and "I'm the youngest and the most disadvantaged student there -- " just didn't cut it. She probably thought me a smug little pain in the ass, which is a great deal closer to the truth than "quiet; modest".
As a result, I watched with a heavy heart as she awarded this year's Choral Student of the Year plaque to some idiot who strays off-tune and has absolutely no sense of rhythm, for Godssake, but really, I was horribly distracted this year. I've been to less than half of all rehearsals. What really hurt the most was the fact that I had fallen in her eyes, and I really do idolize the woman.
And then I find out that she's leaving. She's leaving because she is Great Goddess Extraordinaire, and frankly, it was a wonder we got to keep her this long, because a woman of her caliber certainly deserves better. And I had disappointed her this year! I loved her so much, and I was planning on making it up in the next semester! Now she'll never know... *sobs*
Fortunately (or, maybe not so), this was not the case with all teachers. My history teacher (and I am a little nauseated in saying this) I swear took to stalking me from time to time in the last month, stopping me to discuss horribly banal things whenever he chanced upon me (which was a lot). As if this wasn't distressing enough, he started buying me things. Mixing me CDs, decorating the covers and writing sentimental little notes in the expensive books (significant titles -- he'd either remember I liked something, or the book would reference a certain conversation we had, etc.) he bought.
CLASSMATE#1: God, do you suck up all the time?
ME: Not intentionally, I don't thin --
CLASSMATE#2: Are you sleeping with him?
ME: Would I?
CLASSMATE#3: Are you planning on sleeping with him?
ME: No, ew --
CLASSMATE#4: Do you remind him of his wife who perhaps won't let him touch her anymore and therefore he is venting his frustration on you?
ME: ...God, I hope not.
CLASSMATE#5: You are my idol. Teach me your secrets. I want presents, too.
In the end, I stopped going to his classes. But only at the very end. I still have reference letters to think about, goodness.
Which... turned out to backfire just a bit. My phone rings one glorious day, three days from the official end of school, but really, the second week into the unofficial summer hols for most of us self-respecting students. Yes, it's Mr. Creepy calling me, asking in a desperate voice why I haven't been coming, and would I please come and sign his yearbook, and if he could, he would like to give me another CD. The conversation dragged on mortifyingly. The least he could do is pretend to sound cool, but there was no shielding his everlasting perverseness and desperation.
God, he gives me the creeps, trying to catch my eye all the time.
It's a shame I'm not getting nearly the level of attention from Mr. Perfect. He shows affection in wholly different ways. That is, he is Cool, and doesn't talk to you all the time, and so you know he really, secretly loves you, and his newly pregnant wife (I slapped the unfortunate messenger bearing this bit of shocking news and broke down into a hysterical tantrum in the library) means nothing and is most probably fictional.
After all, he did promise me the role of Wendy for next year's Peter Pan. True love? I think so.
--
I went to the zoo with Mother. Naturally, she complained about walking too much, that the animals were ugly what's the point in looking at them they don't do much do they, and spent most of her time trying to molest the sea of young children passing by.
"There should be a zoo where it's just babies. Babies of all kinds for the public to look at and pet. That's a zoo I would go to," said she with great conviction, fixing a swaying toddler gamboling our way with a glinty, beady eye. I wondered horribly if this sort of fascination with babies and putting pretty things in zoos is hereditary.
MOTHER: *grabs a plump thing by its arm*
ME: You can't just grab other people's children --
MOTHER: Wow, you are so big! Soooo biiiiig!
CHILD’S MOTHER: *annoyed* What do you mean, he's so big? He is normal. Normal sized. *yanks child away*
MOTHER: *blinks, at a loss as to why mothers would prefer runty, normal-sized children to big, juicy ones*
And while the sane majority of zoogoers admired the animals, Mother was only interested in their palatability. She salivated at the sight of the seals' voluptuous bodies. She affirmed reindeer meat must be boiled for two hours prior to any sort of preparation as to render it soft enough for eating. She kept a running commentary on The Best Way To Prepare This Creature For Consumption the entire day. Often, she scared small children.
"Don't eat these," she warned me sternly as we looked at a couple of bright blue poisonous frogs in a glass tank, as if I was in danger of scooping those things right out and putting them in my mouth. "You're the one with the problem," I said, peevishly.
The best bit of the whole day? The SuperSexy falconer. Around midday, we sat around for a bird show. Now, normally, I go for pretty boys. But halfway through the show, this charming, suntanned man walks out, a good-natured smile on his face, warmth emananting from his being. It was ridiculously attractive. Some people look average, but possess a certain quality that is incredibly and inexplicably compelling. He reminded me of Charlie Weasley.
I suppose Harry Potter was on my mind that day, for I saw characters everywhere. Whilst waiting to buy tickets, a man who looked exactly as I always thought Remus Lupin should look knelt by his daughter and spoke to her in a quiet, soothing voice. I resisted the urge to climb into his lap. Really, I'm sure David Thewlis is talented and all, but goodness, he looks like a Hitleresque pervert.
LeSigh. It is the end of an era. No more wild speculation, no more fanfics set in Hogwarts, unless we choose to blatantly ignore canon. I am incredibly sad, and I genuinely wish July 21st would never come. Because it is the end, do you realize. There will be no more surges of its popularity. All it can do is go downhill from here. Fanon will loose its driving momentum, now that there's going to be this horrible finality.
It breaks your heart right in half. But you know, I suppose I may be consoled by the fact that I will be attending PROPHECY 2007 (!!!) days after the book's release. International event. Huge deal in HP-Fan-World. Quidditch games, Triwizard Tournament, Midnight Ball, movie nights, discussions on just about every topic surrouding Harry Potter, and so much more. I mean, goodness, SLASH panels!! Led by authors I love! BNFs!! FictionAlley! SO MUCH. Seriously, discussions on just about everything. *snickers happily*
But before all this excitement, I must find something to do. Something other than watching free movies all day long on my laptop. Perhaps I shall apply for a job at the zoo, where I could persuade the falconer Mark to fulfill one of my little fantasies.
But really, I just need to settle down at a nice bookstore. I thought about Starbucks, but honestly, I would be the world's worst barista.
--
Now for the cheese of this post. Or, you know, chocolate or whatever the hell you kids like. Because I, someone who will eat just about anything, cannot stand cheese.
I had not planned on posting this just yet. I am knocking about a couple of fics for a FictionAlley contest, and I thought I would post some stories along with this to flesh this overdue post out. But I am slow and lazy, and SOMETHING quite miraculous found me today.
I won't say what. You have to see for yourself... and... for those who actually have things planned this summer and therefore cannot allow yourselves to waste such time on my Journal, the least you can do is fast forward the following clip to a certain scene towards the middleish-end:
( And now an Lj-cut for my thoughts on above clip. )
Current Mood:  fangirlishly lustful
Current Music: In Demand -- Texas
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01:37 pm
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Dumposity
Recently, it occured to me that Boy is not as awesome as previously assumed. It came as quite a shock, but the fact of the matter was, something had to be done.
I was never really into it. Sure, the thing is pretty and funny and musical, but apart from all that, there's a sneaking Tooliness that was starting to rear its ugly head. I held my breath and waited, but it couldn't be denied. Surely, and horribly, I realized: Boy is ...Average.
Average. Doomed to conventional thinking, however he may try to hide it with cleverly staged uniqueness. And such conventionalisms turned me right off. Since the beginning, I was devising ways to ditch him, and over a month's worth of time was plenty for me to securely make my decision. The intensity I require just wasn't there.
Simply put, I need a boy who makes me want to drop my pants all the time. This one has me spouting moral nonsense to get away from his advances. But that only works so well -- I still found myself half-naked within the first week. I may be a morally loose woman, but Boy needs some serious lessons in the arts of seduction. His stripteases are atrocious. Though, his wordless methods of asking people out are commendable.
Short-term fun is great. Boy always smells nice and tastes better, and really, no one can deny that a purple-faced Mitch is not worth working toward. But long-term demands something totally different. If you're not beautiful and thoroughly fucked up, then it's not worth my devotion. Ideally, I would have a penis, and be a character in one of Maya's deliriously erotic stories, but my point is -- I don't seriously pursue my eye-candy obsessions. I was bored, and he was bogging me down. Except. He didn't know that, because again, with the conventionalism, I doubt he suspected anything was wrong. People are morons who insist upon steady, seemingly lifeless relationships. God, anything but the placid handholding and the meaningless 'I love you's. Something had to be done.
I turn to shady characters for advice.
ME: Boy is not buying my flimsy moral objections. Oh my God, who would?!
DEE: *wisely* Tell him it's not about morals. Tell him, it's about his penis not being big enough.
ME: Ooh.
DEE: That'll bring him down if nothing will.
ME: It's like manipulating an especially horny little kid.
DEE: Does he give you pleasure?
ME: Er, little to none.
DEE: What are you doing then?! If he doesn't make you hot in the pants, get rid of him!!
ME: *blinks* And suddenly everything is clear. You bring everything into perspective.
DEE: Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get naked with my Latin boy.
Both my Fluffies hate him. Number one, especially. Since day one, she's been insulting him directly: "What's wrong with your face, you big turd?", "Why the fuck can't you use proper English?", "You're horrendously boring. I hate your existence. Why don't you jump off a bridge?", etc, etc. Turns out, a lot of my friends are vicious, judgemental grammar freaks. I am strangely delighted by this fact. Even Sophia, who had refrained from openly insulting Master's property, has intimidated him into using a semblance of proper sentence structuring.
ME: So I've decided to dump him.
FLUFFY: OMFG, THANK YOU.
ME: Yes, I thought you would be pleased.
FLUFFY: Wait. What brought this on? You've found a better boy, haven't you?
ME: Well. Yes. How'd you know?
FLUFFY: *preens* I know you, you whore.
ME: But the problems were always there.
FLUFFY: Aha. You see? Comparing your piece of shit to a better boy made you realize.
ME: You are wondrously perceptive.
FLUFFY: My advice. Boys are like computers.
ME: ...
FLUFFY: You either a) throw your old one out because it's not functioning properly or b) stick with it until you find an upgrade.
ME: You are very wise. But I don't think I can wait. Boy is very cumbersome. Shall get rid of him.
FLUFFY: Good, because that boy can't spell for shit.
So I dumped him right before my choir was to meet, in the dark wings of the empty auditorium. He had a weird tight look on his face and walked out right after. And I spent all that time stalking him before, and he just disappointed the hell out of me. So I was shocked, because I started crying like a silly twit right after. And laughing. Hysterically.
FELLOWCHOIRMEMBER: *walks in*
ME: *laughing hysterically, wiping my face*
FCM: Er. Do you want me to leave?
ME: NO! *clutches*
FCM: *trembles in fear*
ME: No, because then I would be a crazy person crying alone in an empty auditorium!
DIRECTOR: *walks in, blinks* Something I can help you with?
ME: No, no. Just -- boy stuff.
DIRECTOR: *relaxes* Oh. *snort* Don't worry, this will happen at least twenty more times in your life.
ME: ...Thank you.
Anyway. Fun day. Tears lasted about all of five seconds. Fluffy's insults make everything better.
Of course, nothing is complete without moody writing. I was thinking about certain things the weekend before the dumposity, and it put me in a certain mood.
( Not A Drop of Humor In This. -_-' )
In other news, my amateur music video won Best Music Video at the Music Video Awards. And furthermore, I smugly announce that yours truly also swept away Best Actress.
Actually, our music video could've won everything (it certainly deserved Best Editing, with all the other crap we saw), but since it was amateur awards, they wanted to be nice. Even though some of the idiots who won awards clearly didn't put in more than two hours, maximum. Pcha.
In family news, my nineteen year old uncle just got his bastard infant stolen by his girlfriend's illegal father, who sells young children as a hobby. In fact, the girlfriend herself was stolen and raised, for her father is impotent. They live in a tent somewhere in the rural fields.
You have a highly interesting family, I've been told. Well. I also have a family whom I'm I afraid to visit for genuine fear of my life. Once, my aunt actually shanked my uncle for cheating on her. And y'all know about my crack-addict cousin. We've now added Deranged Childnapper to the long list.
*facepalms*
Current Mood: bored
Current Music: Who Knew -- Pink
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12:37 pm
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AIDS 2006
I realize I am lazy beyond measure. Well. I've always known that. But looking at the sad state of my beloved LiveJournal vigorously reminds me of that.
I suppose I can blame it on Being Busy, or the time I spent a whole freaking week updating this LJ, to accidentally delete all my furious typing. But all in all, you all will just have to forgive me for not gracing your Friends pages with my witticisms and brilliant charm for so very long.
It's a pity that I waited so long to update, because so many things have happened that I can't possibly recount in perfect humorous detail any longer. But I shall try:
First item, for the sake of continuity: Benji Schwimmer is a thing of the past. The boy won the competition, just like I knew he would, and then he and his ridiculously photogenic self danced away from my consciousness. I am left with about three thousand pictures and manips of him on my Photobucket and countless videos on my cluttered computer as a reminder of Summer 2006. I am a silly, silly fangirl who never loves anything half-way.
Second -- Possibly the most meaningful week of my life occurred Summer 2006, mid-August. I was volunteering at Save the Children, and they had, way back in December 2005, registered me for the AIDS Conference. I forgot all about it until July-ish, when I started getting letters and packages from Belgium: Biggest international conference in the world, 25,000 global delegates in one ginormous building, world leaders and celebrities, etc, etc. And somehow I, inexplicably, received a scholarship worth $1,200 to go as one of the very few international youth delegates. I figured Life was trying to say 'Let's be friends again' after raping me to death.
I had no idea of the conference's magnitude. Every delegate received an official conference messenger bag, and every day as I got off the subway, I was literally carried to the conference site by an enormous flood of colorfully dressed internationals all wearing the exact same bag. It was insane. And really hilarious. I've never talked to so many strangers in my life. You see someone, make eye contact, and immediately waltz up and introduce yourself. That kind of liberty doesn't happen in life. I loved it, and when the week was over, it was hard adjusting back to the eye-avoiding norm.
Saturday was the youth pre-party. It was just my luck that I would leave about five minutes before Alicia Keys showed up due to sheer boredom. But anyway, the food was good, the condoms were fancy (condoms arts and crafts! It's all about tolerance and acceptance, people.), and I talked to lots of people. Which was basically my goal of the week -- talking to as many diverse people as possible. The highlight of that night was giving the entire contents of my wallet to a homeless person. ...No, of course not. I was scared, not being generous, goodness. That man looked like he was about to touch me.
Again, I am very upset with myself for neglecting my LiveJournal, because countless tales have now entirely entered oblivion. I don't have funny stories about all these amazing people I've met, but just for the sake of ( remembering them )
Phew. With that out of the way... School started, and this year is a total bitch. I can't even talk about it for that evil, whip-toting sadist, Stress, will bend me over and spank me senseless. My point is, I've bitten off more than I can chew, and I'm involved in too many things and I've demanded too much of myself, and it's too late to back out, so I just need to swallow hard and hope I don't choke to death.
The annual play was an insane time-consumer. Thoroughly fun, though. Especially when you're cast as the femme fatale, and you're required to tongue three Very Pretty Boys.
And for the sake of my wonderful Kiara, who glares angrily at me and accuses me of not keeping her in the know, I shall detail the latest drama of my life.
( God, this is morbid. )
Happy New Year, peeps. I... was working my ass off and hardly noticed it. In fact, I've been working my ass off all during break, and it's killing me. *moans* I hate my life. Christmas snuck up on me and then left in a hurry, leaving me deliriously broke. Also, I seriously love all Christmas music, and I'm still listening to it, pretending that it's not you know, the next year already.
And if you haven't noticed, this LJ entry is disgustingly mundane. Not my usual style. But God, I'm tired, I'm rushed, and I will update with some hilarity when my life is less crazy.
Oh, ONE last thing. WAAAAAY back when, when I was seriously pissing off everyone and most of all J-Pizz, Kiara did a favor for me, and I promised her LJ love, and never delievered.
So I'm going to compose an impromtu poem: Er.
Kiara is the love of my life,
Even when she's beating me up and I want to shank her with a knife;
She takes all of my faults in stride,
Everything, in her, I can confide;
I love ranting about Harry Potter with her deep into the night;
I wish she was my wife,
Kiara, my love, I will always be by your side.
*
Mother news: She has fallen in love with Wentworth Miller. Guy on Prison Break, which is an awesome show, by the way. And my mother hardly crushes on people. EVER. So this is alarming. She's watching Prison Break with this gleam in her eye. I look over. She says, "That boy is pretty." I gulp and look away. She giggles.
Another thing, I have taught her to swear. I am a bad influence. But I swear in fondness, really.
MOTHER: *bothers*
ME: Fuck off for a bit, Mother.
MOTHER: *blinks, walks away*
(An Hour Later)
ME: Hello, Mother.
MOTHER: ...Fug off.
ME: Er.
MOTHER: *impish giggle*
ME: Oh My God, I've created a monster.
Current Mood: worried
Current Music: Christmas music -- I can't let it go, I just can't.
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03:45 pm
[Link] |
Summer Camp
I have not been united with the beauteous Internet much the past few weeks. It is a pity, for I have forgotten all I meant to post on LiveJournal, my Friends page is overflowing, and I have been seriously behind on my Benji!Duties.
Normally, I would post links to every Benji!Appearance since my last post, but because YouTube is being a douche by constantly deleting any So You Think You Can Dance vids due to copyright infringement (Pcha!), and Denny is the only one would would actually download anything, I will refrain from any video spamming.
...The hell it's going to stop me from Pic!Spamming, however. GLEE:
Baby's such a model.
Here he is, on his religious mission:
Hi, freckles...
I've always loved the sibling love (Benji & cousin Heidi):
Benji and sister Lacey:
He has so many hats, I can't even keep track:
Zombie!
Fly!
Baby, baby...
So handsome...
"I need to be more like Don Juan DeMarco!"
And...last one:
I've got a billion of these all stuffed up in my Photobucket. I had to try very very hard not to put every pic in this entry. So they're all gonna surface somewhere, you know, prolly in everyone's LJ comments. But there are just so many. Always the most diligent and resourceful collector, yours truly.
But fear not, I'm still all about this boy:
Or rather... these boys:
Anyway, in other news (though my summer life has been taken over by the Benji, surprisingly enough, I found time for other things), I have been playing Mommy at a summer camp. It's not bad -- free trips, sexy counselor, small children... I located the cute ones at once. The ugly ones are always picked last for teams. I'd feel sorry for them if they weren't so gosh darn freaky.
They think you're kidding when you say, No, dear, please refrain from attacking my person. They think it's a game. They think it's fun.
Yesterday, I had one hideous churn chase me around the pool. "I'm gonna get you!" she trills. I leap back in horror. "Please," I beg, "Please, go away."
The plead fell on deaf ears. She took it as an invitation to defile my body. With a squeal, she lunged. My skin burned with disgust. "I am scantily clad!" I shriek. "I will break out in rashes!" With renewed vigor, her revolting limbs circled about my neck and waist.
In the end, I did what I had to. Swearing loudly, I thrashed about wildly, hitting as much as I could stand to touch, and tried to drown the thing. It nearly worked. Seizing the moment to escape, I towelled away the remnants of my ghastly ordeal and proceeded to sunbathe. I do enjoy my tans. Pity they fade so quickly.
Rabid excuses for children aside, summer camp has been otherwise enjoyable. I learned how to skate for the first time in my long years of life. Well, of course, in the beginning it was all about clutching desperately to the side of the rink, screaming bloody murder every small slide forward (and it took me about an hour to get the courage to stand up), but in the end, I managed to actually gain some speed. Injuries were unavoidable. The last of my spectacular falls earned me a hurt wrist. Even now, I cannot put pressure on it. I do hope it's not a permanent thing. *worries*
Science centers are absolutely abominable. Supple cheeks of small children are a small consolation to the extreme and horrible boredom that comes hand-in-hand with science centers. The only bright light of the day was when, in a time of utmost horror, when I was wondering frantically if it was possible for my brain to deteriorate with this cruel and unusual form of torture -- I suddenly spotted Number Two. Now, I don't know whether it's plain coincidence, or there are just a lot of people in the world that look exactly like Dee (for I see him all the time everywhere I go), but there he was, with an unattractive female companion, examining an exhibit with disinterest.
So naturally, I stalk him all day long, sometimes hiding just out of sight and softly crooning "Dee..." and then running when he turned around in confusion. I don't know why, but stalking makes me happy. I suppose my insides are just wired to be Fangirl Forevermore.
And because of this summer camp, I have been forced to take the loathsome public transit more than ever before. It is scary, it is confusing, and it involves a lot of walking, as the bus stops are never close to where you want them.
One day, I was walking to the bus stop (which was very far away), when all of a sudden, your average creepy middle-aged fat man drove up to me out of nowhere and rolled down the window. "Hey, baby, want a ride?" he propositioned.
The question was so ridiculous and all-too movielike-and-not-real-life that I laughed in his face (which was really close) before I could think. Unable to quell my mirth, I wheezed out a ludicrous "No" and walked on. Apparently he took offense, and tried to run me over.
The next day the same thing happened, because I now live in bizarro-land, and this time, I was wise enough to pretend I didn't hear. It's dangerous downtown. But in a fun sort of way. You never know when you might get hauled into an alley and brutally raped.
MOTHER: You dress like a whore.
ME: *coolly* I will change my wardrobe when you change yours.
MOTHER: What's wrong with my clothes?
ME: You look like a hobo. And a potato at the same time.
MOTHER: Lots of people say I look twenty.
ME: Lots of people are drug addicts who can't see straight.
MOTHER: Be quiet! Benji's on TV!
She's developed a mild crush on Benji. It's altogether frustrating and creepy. She's also been sitting in a corner, reading Sorcerer's Stone, making odd sounds of supposed comprehension. Though, Mother is seriously brain-dead and cannot sit and read an actual novel for any length of time. Therefore, she is under the impression that "Dundly" and "Uncle Venus" beat Harry Potter regularly with "Smelly Sticks".
But I don't want to talk about her. You people always respond so well to my Mother-bits, and I can't be friends with you if you like Mother more than me.
I promised my Main Minion Sophie video game porn. Well, dear, it will definitely be in my next entry. I get one week off now that I'm done with summer camp before moving onto bigger and better things. Namely being strategically philanthropical.
    
And...my Moment of Zen:
Current Mood:  weird
Current Music: Fields of Gold
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04:58 pm
[Link] |
I apologize in advance to the Fluffies and everyone else who is screaming DIE BENJI DIE...
But there are some of your typical Non-Benji, Good 'Gwen's-Crapped-Up-Life' stuff in here. :)
I swear, it's summer, and I've never been more busy the whole year. Though, it's not really me being proficient. Just very dedicated and FanGirlSpammy. But I suppose it's good practice for when I really do have stuff to say.
Oh, Benji -- why so awesome, baby?
*whistles placidly*
I have combed the Internet. I eat my meals in front of the computer. This is my reward. It's actually quite productive. I find loads of new things every day.
But let us give this a rest. I shall detail the extent of my Dedication(it deserves a capital letter) later. First, a little on the rest of my life. A little, I say, because most of it is spent on Benji. And even the little left is tainted by BenjiThoughts. The result? I do most things while twirling and cha-chaing all over the place.
Anyhow! I had been searching for Teh Perfect Shoes for a Verah Long Time. It saddened me greatly to suddenly discover them one day on the feet of an old woman. They are black, they are completely flat on the bottom so that I may slide around easily, and they are extremely bendy. And ballet-y. It doesn't hurt if there's a small thin bow on either shoe. It seemed horribly unfair to me that Teh Perfect Shoes should go to a set of wrinkly, decrepit feet of someone who couldn't even see them properly, much less give it the appreciation it so properly deserves.
In the end, I found them. And I wish my painful process was as easy as that sentence, but they appeared before me one day, looking thoroughly adorable in a Payless Shoe Source. I wouldn't take them off for the longest time, admiring the effect with every possible outfit.
And it was Teh Perfect Shoes I happily wore to my taping session with my choir. See, my t00by director whom I rapturously idolize, rented out a church, hired a sound technician, and ordered us to show up at said church the same night BabyBenji was to perform. At first, I screamed. I cried. I threw a couple of tantrums. I grabbed random people by their collars and spit in their faces.
And then I calmed down enough to reason with myself: Gwen! Being teacher's pet comes with a price. And that is, you mustn't let director think badly of you.
Fangirl screamed, BUT BENJI!
Reason slapped Fangirl, and decided, You shall tape it. So the quality will be off. So your singing might be warbled and decidedly panicky in Abject Fear that recorder will stop functioning for some reason or other. You must show up.
So I kissed my VCR and bade it to obey me. And then with great trepidation, I started on my journey. From the first moment, I knew that day would be shot to hell. I go to the corner convenience store to buy bus tickets. I purchase five, and then because of my own clumsiness, somewhere along the way to the bus, I ended up with four.
And then after a long wait, I get on the wrong bus. Just as I see the church and pulled the LET ME GET OFF string, the bus swerved into a turn. I clutched onto the metal poles (for I was standing, for the men in this world has no sense of chivalry.), willing the bus to stop soon. The women next to me gave me a look of pity. Later, I realized why.
It was a one-destination bus. It ignored all stops, and drove us all the way to the freaking mall. I was just standing(swaying) there, trying desperately to memorize all the turns the bus took so I may reverse them on my way back. The bus drove us into the special little bus-y area, where no pedestrians or cars may have passage.
Disgruntled and beyond the point of Care, I pushed back the signs that warned: DANGER, NO PEDESTRIANS ALLOWED, and raced back the way the bus came. See, the place is designed to ensure nobody would do that. On either side of the bus track were sharply sloped grass hills, very easy to loose footing and just slide down to become roadkill.
I half-crawled my way back, clutching the grass for support. Buses honked at me. I was quite pleased to be alive afterwards. There were too many turns for me to be confused by bus. I walked my way back, screaming FUCK at five-second intervals. People were alarmed.
My beautiful Perfect Shoes were dirtied, and I developed a tank-top-shaped tan (<-- shiney. Me likey). Fuming, I reached the church, hopelessly late. The church had a large cemetary. Swearing, I stomped my way through the place, glaring at tombstones, wondering whose brilliant idea it was to make every person who wanted the blessing of God every Sunday pass through a creepy place like that.
In the end, it was all right. I suppose. I went home to watch the tape, had a heart attack and fried a couple more synapses in my brain, but it's all good. Benji Schwimmer is unbelievable.
*
Yesterday, I had a Highly Awesome Dream. Very James Bond-y. But not without the douchy quality that goes hand-in-hand with James Bond. It was exhilarating. Guns were fired. Lots of running. At one point, I was speeding away on a motorcycle, chased by my HotDarkNemesis into the night. Men were killed. Parties were crashed. Did I mention it was highly awesome?! In the end, we reached a mutual... peace? and a gorgeous redheaded girl tremblingly anointed my forehead with the sacrificial blood of a virgin, and then me and my HotDarkNemesis (who has beautiful long thin legs) made passionate love in a way befitting of our aggressive and dominant natures.
I woke up feeling very let down. Real life is so boring.
If your life has not yet been graced by the Awesome Benji, you need to scold yourself for being so silly. Never fear, I have links. *beams* That I have no doubt you will use. *wider smile*
I see it as a journey. Let us begin by being thoroughly amazed. Beneath is a video of Benji and cousin Heidi blowing everyone else out of the water at Boogie by the Bay 2003. It's BREATHTAKING. I swear, these videos are the best minutes of my entire year.
(Taking Dance To A Whole New Dimension)
Next -- another incredible dance competition video. (With cousin Heidi!!) I'm serious, people, you ain't never seen shit like this before. And he's only a teenager in this! (Side note -- he mixes his own music. The rapping embedded in his dance routine is him, if you pay attention.) (It WILL change your life.)
Week two of So You Think You Can Dance! Yes, a field of Benji's expertise -- Latin dancing! Watch him become a man. A manly man. (Cuchi-Cuchi, baby!)
Week three! Pop jazz. Benji is a fierce, eyeliner'd, mohawk'd DJ on the dance floor. He's working on bringing out his masculine side. So good. (Put The Needle On It.)
Hey! It's Benji freestyling! (And later gyrating against his sister!) How can one person look so damn hot dancing?!
(Don't sweat it, it's a link to my Photobucket!) (Which means that even YOU, Sniffly, can watch these two clips with no trouble!)
For those who don't have Flash 8, and therefore, no way of viewing on Photobucket: (One), (Two)
(Behind the Scenes) -- For those who are already short-tempered with this onslaught of Benji!Media, you may leave this link be. I'd rather you watch him dancedancedance. But if you HAVE been watching him dancedancedance, you would've fallen in love with him, and therefore be eager to watch this non-dancey clip. Anyway. He's adorable. His sunglasses are adorable. His face pressed against glass is adorable. And his witty t-shirts are all adorable.
(Two Extremely Short Benji Intros!) (On My Photobucket!)
The following are teenage Benji dance clips in Jack and Jill competitions -- where dancers get randomly paired up with a partner and dance to randomly played music. So everything is improvised.
I would've never guessed. Benji looks like he's been practicing these routines for years. His age never shows on the dance floor -- just look at how he WORKS his dance partners(who look like they're at least twenty years his senior. And in the last case, about fifty).
In the words of Denny:
(Oh.)
(Shit.)
(Son.)
Heidi's amazing y'all. It's so cool that Benji and Heidi are in this competition together. I pray for the day when they can be partners on the show. Though -- it probably won't happen. Benji and Donyelle would never be in the bottom couples to have one of them eliminated.
"Stroking of the shoulders? Please clarify, Gwen." Gladly:
(Another Short Photobucket Link.)
And the list keeps growing...
Look at that face of PURE, TEETH-CLENCHING ECSTASY:
BENJI: When I compete in the swing dance world, I don't have to worry about sexual tension or anything... but Donyelle makes it very easy. So... um, yeah. *blush*
  
Can we revisit one of my favorite Benji!Moments? He's beautiful when he cries. Because he is passionate. And not afraid to show it. <3.
And she who mocks (Jen: Snicker, God, his crying face is hideous) only does so as a result of personal fears and insecurities.
     
I hope one day you all will forgive me for my inept and lazy Photoshopping. And they never turn out right. Trust me when I say he looks better in motion. You'd know if you were keeping up with the videos.
   
Here, we have two screencaps of Benji and Heidi in their competition. (SERIOUSLY, WATCH THE FIRST TWO LINKS, DUDES!)
Please to notice that's Benji being lifted (upside down) by Heidi. I'd say she was ridiculously strong if I hadn't seen Benji do the same trick with a twelve-year-old. Truth is, Benji Schwimmer has the art of gravity defiance. Either that or all swing dancers are secretly superhumans. You choose which explanation sounds more plausible.
He's handsome, this one. Glee.
The following are group performances. They are low-quality, for you must actually download for the higher quality clips, put my point is, these dancers are amazing, and group performances are way cool.
(Just In Case) (Anyone) (Wanted More.)
What I'm really trying to say? WATCH THIS SHOW. Wednesdays. Fox.
Makes me wish I took dance lessons. Like, yesterday. I can proudly report I have been doing nothing but prance and pop around to loud music all day long. My thighs are screaming in agony, so it's a good sign. One day, I will be able to properly do splits. Squee.
In addition to this development of exercize, I have been consuming an unhealthy abundance of fruit. Seriously. Rolling on the ground, clutching at your impossibly filled stomach that is making your heart hurt and the room spin cannot be good for you.
I blame the refridgerator for possessing such an insane variety. I had six different kinds of fruit yesterday. (Oranges are Good.) I crawled up in the middle of the night to add watermelon to that growing list. Which is how I found myself in the kitchen, past two, in a state of disheveled undress, spoon in hand, laughing myself sick into a scooped out half-watermelon, snorting up fruit juice. Everything is funny when your brain is tired. (Example: High school French class.)
Look! It's the top 16 dancers with Natasha Bedingfield! (If you can't pick out Benji at this point, you need to just stop what you're doing, move in with Mother, and together, find your Missing Chromosomes in piles of sunburnt potatos.) (In any case, he's on the ground, in the lavender. Heidi is towards the right, in a large red silky thing.)
This show is unbelievably addictive. It always leaves me weeping at the end, clutching at my hair and moaning:
Current Mood: tired
Current Music: Poison
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02:02 pm
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Shiznit
Says Kiara, your last post sucked. It had no lusting as is your usual style. Says I, Crazy fag! That whole post was lusting. First Daquiri lusting, then Benji lusting, then Beckham lusting. And she says, well, it's not enough, and not apparent enough.
This should thrill you, love.
For this first time (let's not count Jon Stewart), I've become fixated with someone who did NOT first catch my attention by his looks or on-screen charisma. In other words, I did not, again, totally fall in love with Hephaestion, to realize Jared Leto is a complete fag, and try to shove that aside and still love him, only to realize years later, somewhere between Lindsay Lohan and Jessica Simpson, that... Eughr. Teaches that bastard to be so inconsiderate with my delicate heart. His new CD sucks. It is trite and has fallen in a catagory, whereas what I liked about it before was that it did not. I hope no one shows up at your concert, jerk.
Anyway! Benji Schwimmer. The moment he walked onto the auditioning stage, he caught my attention, for he was dressed up in what most guys would never wear in their lives, and he has that easiness about him that most people lack. By the end of his mind-blowing routine, I was on the floor and breathing in dust from the television screen. Regard: (LiveJournal doesn't permit direct video viewing, so I am reduced to links.)
(Lovely.)
I love his facial expressions. They make his dancing so unique and fun to watch. He's having such a thrill with this, and the judges need to stop killing his fun. He always has a dead disappointed look on his face when he's told to stop doing that. Daddy's a swing legend, so Benji's been winning stuff since age four. His whole family dances... goes back a few generations.
So adorable. That got me paying attention for his next appearance. I was scared for him, because he is a national champion in West Coast Swing, but the other styles of dancing...? He was asked to "dance for his life" to prove he could stay. He brought along his cousin to help him, performing an even better routine than the last. That did it for me. The unhealthy adoration began, and the routine Internet combing started (I have performances from when he was five!):
(Notice his face when the music first starts.)
(Amazing.)
JUDGE: Benji, who's the current U.S. champion of West Coast Swing?
BENJI: *pause* Hm... that would be me.
After sifting through thousands of blurry, low-quality clips of Benji winning every single swing competition in the country year after year after year, (this) is a good-quality clip of how Benji dances after not dancing for two freaking years. It's actually a longer version of the second part of the previous link, but with some changes in the moves. It's more impressive.
If nothing else, y'all have to watch this clip: (Please.)
Judgement time. My baby cries. My heart just melted. I say again, which crazy bitch would dump him because he decided to go feed poor children? You're too busy saving the world, you don't have time to luuuuurve me!
And of course there are haters in the world, who go around saying(well, in their little forums, yes I've been lurking. Can you blame me?!) he's a poof, but Benji feels so much, more than most people of his gender are willing to show, and that's what makes him beautiful.
Now's the time I Crack!Rave a little. From day one, I had said, Holy Fuck, Baby looks exactly like Beck. Or rather, Janet, as she is brunette. In addition to their freakish physical similarities, they are both sweet, they have brilliant smiles, and they both dance. Plus, Benji has skeleton socks, and Beck has skeleton swimming trunks. Oh. That softness in disposition hits home.
Oh, Janet. How lovely you would be in HotMaleForm. *fangirls*
And most importantly, Janet and Beck have always had a very...special...love. Benji has the same Family!Love with his dancing sisters and cousins. The way he was holding cousin Heidi right before they were to begin... that was the just heaven. It was something like this, but better a thousand times:
Like Sophie said, their whole family is hot. And loving.
(Benji with dance champion sister Lacey.)
He's...Mormon. *groans* To be married soon, no doubt. I've been doing a lot of reading on this stuff, and after males complete their mission, it's time to settle down and make a family. After all, you can't expect Benji to be celebate forever. *groans* I need to convert. It's not fair. Hmphr.
Oh, baby, why so pretty?
 
Exactly like Janet.
And I was shocked to find:
But then I thought, well, if he can pick and throw around all those girls like they were pieces of straw, then of course he has hidden muscle. Mmm.
But really, I like sweet thin Benji better than Brawny!Benji.
So adorable, virginal, nervous little Benji gets paired up with a girl for... hip hop. I was scared shitless, repeating, oh, he's gonna go home, he's not gonna win... this will be the death of him. Here's a boy who specializes in swing... ballroom, no way can he hump air well as is crucial for hip hop. Well. See for yourself:
(Work it, baby.)
That has got to be my favorite vid of all time. I have been constantly late to everything, watching and rewatching it, trying to learn the steps.
And just if you missed some of the most adorable things ever,
BENJI: I don't really get close to girls in that way... at least not yet... until I'm married. *makes cutest face in existence*
DONYELLE: I've been trying to get him to be comfortable with just touching me.
BENJI: I could get used to it... *nervous laughter*
And after all that, he gets on stage and works his booty like he's been doing that all his life. And he learned that in a week! Holy shit! He just proved his versatility and merit to win this. It's his face that makes the performance even better. Right before the first fast beat hit, he nodded at the camera in a "Yeah, baby" sort of way... Something in my brain exploded and warm stuff slushed around for the rest of the day.
It's his innate showmanship. Baby loves the camera. The judging part was hilarious!
JUDGE: Does your church know you dance like that?
BENJI: Does my church know I dance like that? I hope they're not watching right now! *furiously red* *and sweaty, I should add*
JUDGE: I understand you lost a girlfriend? If she sees you dancing like that, she'll be back, sunshine!
And the "call me" thing at the end was just too adorable for me to describe.
I can't think about anything else. Oh, Wednesday will not come soon enough. I know Fox is evil, but people, my husband is on.
    
Anyway, The following is a little something for me, for I need to stop being ridiculous all over the place, and get seriously writing.
Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: James Brown
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01:29 pm
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Benji <3.
God damn, it's been long!
Well. Starting off with something familiar: I honestly worry for Mother sometimes. Her blankness scares me. One day, I'm gonna turn around and realize I have a RealPotato for a mother. And then I will shrug and say aloud, "Well, it would be a waste...", shove her into the oven and make myself a real nice meal. Mmm...
ME: So this is a map of the world. Can you find America? Hmmm?
MOTHER: *thinks for a really long time* *points at Canada*
ME: Oh, God. HERE. ITS HERE. THIS BIG MASS RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE.
MOTHER: ...Where's Mexico, then? Oooh, wooow. What's that big thing underneath?
ME: ...South America.
MOTHER: There's more to Mexico?
She can't differentiate between the Pacific and Atlantic oceans, either. But enough of her, more about me!
In a time of darkness, a period of hopeless despair... I found Beauty. But alas, I am a girl with absolutely none of the proper equipment, and so I provide no decent pictures of Daquiri. But I assure you, this boy is Beauty Everlasting. One look into his eyes will send you to Happy Places.
Daquiri has a motorcycle. It is orange (like the rest of his belongings). And imagine him, dismounting, shaking back his long, curly, bright gold hair (shine, shine), reaching up casually to take off his blue sunglasses... *wimper* All of them are so hopelessly older than me. And so, so cool.
I like a boy who likes to moon people. And who looks stunning in everything he could possibly wear. I seriously need to steal those fashion show pictures on public display. Relatively, I ordered my people to snap pictures of him at a banquet. And because my new things are very dense indeed, they shamelessly snap pictures in plain view. Not that I'm complaining. But I wince at the lack of subtlety.
Stranger was how he took it. I mean, a normal person would assume a quizzical expression upon hearing shrieks of "DAQUIRI, LOOK OVER HERE" ...perhaps even a "Who are you, why do you know my name, why are you taking pictures of me, WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU KEEP POPPING UP FROM? No, he simply poses dramatically, flashes a winning smile, and saunters off to be the victim of many more candid photos, no doubt. Upon further consideration, I suppose if I were THAT pretty, I'd be angry if even an hour went by without random fangirls I'd never seen in my life tripping over themselves in haste to document my beauty on eternal digital technology.
Continuing with newfound loves -- Jared Leto has totally been topped. Teaches him to trample all over my delicate heart. (Whattafag.) The top of my To-Bang list now looks like this:
1. Tom Felton
2. Vincent Kartheiser
3. Benji Schwimmer
4. Jared Leto
5. Jude Law
(Michael Phelps is now only number six. I haven't room for brawny athletes. Even if they are pretty, shaven man-biscuits such as Teh Phelps.)
I have been tremendously idle and bored recently, faffing about... I mean, seriously, I watched every episode of American Idol, which is just harping on embarrasingly ridiculous. I followed that with So You Think You Can Dance, the Fox show by some of the same creators as Idol. Another competition for (relatively) undiscovered talent.
Now, I watched because I was one shade shy of going insane... I never thought it would amount to anything. Then, as I was watching the L.A. auditions in guilty shame, rubbing my head and wondering where my life has gone (quick feel for pot belly -- metabolism still holding out), I was suddenly overwhelmed by a bright light! For a moment, I do believe I saw Jesus's eyes.
Blasphemy aside, it turned out to be Baby's sequins. Benji Schwimmer, (twenty-two! No idea what year...damn those Capricorns.) who I took ONE look at and immediately fell in love with. A swing dance champion since he was four (Daddy is legendary West Coast Swing icon), he totally lit up the stage. The lip-syncing and excessive facial expression (hilarious!), though it didn't sit well with the judges, I found entirely too adorable. And he's the exact type I like -- pointed chin, heart shaped face... that particular type of eyes... Like Sniffly said (though without the rancor), Dancing Beck. <3. But you know, with a lot more animation and charisma. I just want to hug him. Oooh. So unbelievably sexy when he dances (in a completely unexpected way).
ME: I love him so. ARE YOU WATCHING?
SNIFFLY: Yes, yes (totally doing something else).
ME: Ooh, the tragedy! He was crying when they let him on the Top Twenty. It's because he was in Mexico, feeding the poor for TWO years, and he comes back to California to find that his OneTrueBeloved had been cheating on him and was now MARRIED to some manwhore!
SNIFFLY: Aw. (<--totally not committed to conversation. <--does not even qualify as "conversation".)
ME: And it put him in a rut, and he didn't dance anymore, until this show, and -- Ooooh, WHICH CRAZY BITCH WOULD LEAVE HIM?!
SNIFFLY: Is it that weird lookin' kid in pink?
ME: SHUT UP ABOUT MY HUSBAND.
SNIFFLY: *sigh* What about Draco?
ME: SHUT UP DRACO IS FICTIONAL.
SNIFFLY: ...
ME: ...
SNIFFLY: ...
ME: ...
SNIFFLY ...
ME: ...IDIDNTMEANITOHGODISORRYNOISWEARTOBABYJESUSOHGOD *drowns in emotional mess*
Anyway, I command you to watch this show. Benji is absolutely delightful. I await his returned friendship on MySpace.
ME: Dyou know papayas make your boobies bigger? As I understand it, they go straight to your chestal area. No detours elsewhere.
SNIFFLY: You're stupid. My aunt eats them all the time.
ME: *pointed look* I bet she's stacked and you don't even know it.
SNIFFLY: You're stupid. I would notice.
ME: Well, are they squishy?
SNIFFLY: ...ARGHAR
ME: THE PAPAYAS, THE PAPAYAS!!
SNIFFLY: Eughr. They are like...cantalopes.
ME: I don't think I've ever eaten a papaya. But if they're going to be like cantalopes, what's the point, oh, make it pointier at the top. It's all a marketing scheme, I bet.
I realize redheads are practically extinct. Of course, I don't care if the Weasley kind goes away forever... though, it'd be a nice spectacle to behold in a Zoo-type setting. However, I mean my precious mixed people. Those who have one redheaded parent and the other, brunette. They make the prettiest people. Creamy skin, nice copper hair... You don't see them anymore! This was brought to my attention by the birth of the Prettiest Baby Ever, Angelina and Brad's (horribly named<--they must be vying for Most Tasteless Parents with Gwyneth and Martin) kid. God...is like me, I said slowly. He...breeds beautiful people. He must approve of my world domination plan! FULL STEAM AHEAD. I HAVE GOD ON MY SIDE!
Anyway, it dawned on me that I must take haste and get more redheads to have children before they die out forever. I shall install a system. Pretty redheads will be kept in a special BreedingPen, and each must reach a yearly quota of so-and-so number of offspring. Else they be punished. A very good time not to be impotent. *glare* No pity allowed.
FIFA WORLD CUP!
*waves flags of support*
 
Since when have you been interested in soccer, says Sniff. Says I, since I realized there were things like this running amuck, sometimes ripping off clothing in their frenzy, grappling other sweaty sexy team members, etc:
  
Steamy blondes aside, I really need to update more often. All this crap is recent. And there's like, a half years' worth of documentation lost. Lesigh.
I've been really into dance music... European techno... Rather, I have discovered that it's really fun to dance to that drastic change from soft rock. I don't care for the music, but I have developed leg strength! Now I spend five hours at a time giving myself encouraging muscle spasms with my deafening DanceMix. It's quite fun.
----
Random quote: JEN: NO, I will not milk Eddie's unconscious penis for you!
Current Mood: so much music
Current Music: Spice Girls
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08:51 pm
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Let's Be Proactive
Yes, let's.
For goodness sake, my laziness has trumped all else. I must stop this. From now on, I measure laziness by the frequency of my LiveJournal updates. And, how many times have I promised to write something down, only to deem sleep, or television, or Jon Stewart, or ...mindless...zoning out ...on my bed ...fantasizing about completely random things -- more important.
But I've turned over a new leaf. Why, after a week of wibbling around, procrastinating out of Fear, I finally plucked up the courage to call an international organization to undergo a long interview. Showmanship instincts kicked in, and I was perfect, only to hang up and then start to shake violently.
And then just not long ago, I wrote TWO very important letters to two very important people with nice little doctorate degrees, one with the attachment of a resume, and the other to beg admission for a writers workshop. However, the chances are slim. But it's good practice anyway. Besides, she's probably going to read it, and because of her years and years of being a practiced letter analyzer, say: Oh, no, no, no. Look, see here? That sentence suggests immaturity, and this? Well, only politeness masking fear and inexpertise. Can she be more conflicted? Professionalism overlapping sincerity, a thesaurus concealing ineptitude.
And me, in the corner, I only wanted to impress you, miss. *wibble*
She -- *glare over glasses* Out of way, plebe, only 60 spots for an entire nation.
...only later do I find out Jamie was a deviation from James.
Truly, herhis real response, so simple and direct and polite, made my entire long letter seem so very childish and irrelevant. I realized I was ranting on and on very embarrasingly.
Another letter for a summer camp seeking staff assistance, in which, if chosen, I shall be in charge of a whole team of young'uns to do with as I please. Hopefully there will be cute ones. A whole cabin I am in charge of...me, as supervisor, oh, won't this be delightful. And, it is much easier to be selected for this.
Furthermore in my proactivity, I have started a new library thing in which I actually start using it again to do more than place a hold on a DVD. In light of these new, very upsetting circumstances in which educators are all mindless idiots, I have decided taking my education in my own hands.
And while everything may sound impressive (it does to me), I really haven't done much. I still need to start making that list of scenarios. I realize I spend about a third of my life living in La-La Gwen's Head Land, and all those scenarios can really be turned into great pieces of writing if I only were not orally spending it all on the dark bedroom wall, to be quickly forgotten with each episode of Desperate Housewives.
But enough of this boring stuff. I don't like thinking about the future -- I get queasy whenever I'm proactive. Almost like being scared, but with the viscous feeling of laziness to ease the sharpness of fear.
As always, let us review the going-ons of my recent life. Recent being half a year.
PEANUT BUTTER. This is the name of my new love. It has only been less than a month, and I have gone through four jars of the stuff -- creamy, crunchy, then establishing that indeed, creamy shall be the way from now on.
It all started with a strange feeling after I'd eaten a Reese Cup. How many countless Reese Cups had I had in the past? But this was different -- why was it so good? At first I toyed with excuses to deny the Addiction. Bread begs for peanut butter. What kind of a person would I be if I denied a natural harmony as 'Bread Spread with Peanut Butter and Jelly'? Though, jelly did not last long. Then, when just bread wouldn't cut it anymore, muffins, apples, a dollop(or two) in milk, etc. to the point when I considered, Hm, I am having rice tonight, might I...? Er, nothing beats fried chicken and... peanut butter, yea?
I learned quickly to drop all pretenses. Who the hell was I kidding? I threw away the chicken and grabbed a spoon. So that's the way it is now. Me, and my quite large spoon, scolding myself as I scoop out spoonful after spoonful of Miracle Cream, just one more...just one more...
Now, since we are on the subject of my loves, let's now turn to an actual person. I've mentioned him before -- Jon Stewart. Lovely Leibowitz:
Not a worthy picture, but none are. Goodness, he is a thousand times better in motion. But I do dearly love the smoke and the jacket.
He's hosting the Oscars this year. Watch it. I swear, he's the smartest, funniest man alive.
--
For the first time since as long as I can remember, the process of ova excretion did not send me shrieking in suicidal frenzy. Granted, it came way early -- I fainted onto my bed without warning, and woke up with grammatical errors in the middle of the day, and was like, WTF(?!).
Why the strange reprieve from cutting into skin to distract away from pain? Why, I have been dancing (Tappity tap tap)...!
Well, actually, the bliss only lasted about one or at most two months, because my patience and endurance has a limit.
I had stressed and stressed over being cast in the winter musical -- I was to be seen running away from the audition room, stopping, slapping myself, donning a brave, determined face, and then running back to it...only to repeat the cycle...over and over again. It was different, different. This year was 1000 times harder, because I did not have my Denny with me. My lovely, candied pears scented left breast'd Denny.
In the end, I was called in just as I was on the brave-and-determined-face phase. Lucky, that.
I had summarized my monologue and entirely changed my audition song during the last five minutes of waiting, and was very on edge.
Especially since one of the three auditioners was my new infatuation. Perfect Mr. Perry. Like Pizzle, but with a penis, and less of the pizazz of her redheaded goddessiness. However, charming, really really intelligent, and has smart humor. And a deep appreciation for classic literature, which is what matters most. Hotness is a prerequisite.
It went well -- my throat only closed up twice -- both on the endings of my two performances, but very minor, really. It happens every year. Was called back for a second audition. The second day went much smoother. I was relaxed, and because we auditioned in groups, acting out already-written lines, very comfortable.
Was cast. Supporting role. Went to rehearsals. Performed.
Of course, if I had been less lazy and updated my LiveJournal during this whole busy busy time, I could've elaborated with more exciting details. Along with regular rehearsals a few days a week, on Sundays we trudged back onstage for nine tiring hours straight. Well. More like, the others trudged, cursing their lack of Life -- on a weekend, Godsake, while I skipped merrily back because I am a horrendous nerd who was happy to bask in Perry's presense while enjoying the older crowd's company, because they are funny, charismatic, and so much cooler than me.
The musical was a completely different feel this year. Though the plot was not as plotful, and the the musical wasn't so much a musical -- just a play with lots and lots of dance numbers and minor singing -- the special effects and details made up for everything. We each got our own hair bitch, and then a makeup bitch, and I do mean bitch, because they were very stressed and scary all the time, sending glares to anyone who dared make a suggestion as to what color eyeshadow they might try. The costumes were unbelievably detailed, designed from practically scratch by a costumes team. There was even a fog machine involved, purely because everyone loves a fog machine.
We had a freaking awesome dance choreographer. The dance numbers made our entire musical look 90% more exciting and professional. Sad, but true, and still fun to watch. ...And sometimes be forced to participate in. I will just leave out the excrutiating anecdote about the time this girl tried to steal my dance partner for the musical finale. I had me a nice thing who was very kind about my dancing. He actually apologized to me whenever he dropped me. Like it was his fault I was wriggling and misstepping all over the place.
My, this entry is starting to drag. Getting back to original story -- I didn't writhe for two months because I was inspired by the dancers in the musical to be more graceful and limber. I danced and stretched every night in December and January. I still try to do crunches every day, but I feel less envious of those liquid movements with time.
--
Too many people were born in February. A much belated happy birthday to Denny, Desirae, and Sniffly who has been very very negligent and mean. All my scheming, and she's going to end up popping out a monster with a very large ass, a baby made of stone, and a tiny little cyclops. But anyway. Wedding, whore. You best remember. I was going to make you a chart detailing your life with arrows and rectangles, but I got lazy.
All gay boys (the proper ones, anyway) are pretty, but not all pretty boys are gay. It's like that rectangle -- square thing, where all squares are rectangles, but not all rectangles are squares. That, conceived a very long time ago, just popped up in my mind to make this ghastily long entry even longer. ...Along with this weird theorem concerning the congruency of faces, which a certain cold distant someone tried to argue was her idea.
--
I just finished Interview with a Vampire, a movie I am ashamed to say I hadn't ever seen before. Brilliant, because Brad Pitt does not do subquality work (except for Troy, which was just a nightmare).
Red Dragon finally concluded the Hannibal Lector trilogy for me, and all throughout, I kept thinking, Holy Hell, Edward Norton looks exactly like Dee shall look in about 15 years time. They even make the same expressions -- it made me shiver.
The Da Vinci Code is just about the most well-researched, well-plotted and alluring book I've encountered in a long, long time. Because I am miserably broken, I had to acquire it through the public library, waiting months and months on an impossibly long waiting list. I just remember reading it, and throwing the book across the room many times out of pure shock (and because the book is not mine), screaming, HOLY HELL, THE H---*spoiler* --!! I thought it was just some weird treasure hunt and something to do with the Mona Lisa, but goodness, the book severely surpassed my expectations. I wasn't really desperate to read it, because everyone was reading it, and it seemed ... well, not as good as it really is. ...I won't spoil it for anyone who hasn't had the extreme pleasure, but go read it.
Another book, by pure chance, I picked up because of its thick spine amidst thinner books. White Oleander has the best style of writing I've ever read in my life (save Maya's). It's absolutely captivating, I stood there between the shelves and read for 20 minutes before realizing (in one of those moments when I look up at the ceiling and mouth my delight), Fuckfuckfuck, I am really late for class. I got the movie version right afterwards, and that's enough to make anyone cry. It's like a case of Harry Potter, but worse by 1000 degrees. It's like someone gathered a group of schoolchildren, threw in Michelle Pfeiffer, and made a low-budget, badly-scripted movie.
--
It seems like my life these days are very slow, yet I'm filled with this constant panic, usually heightened suddenly at random intervals -- I know there is so, so much to do, but it's so far off, yet so damn close at the same time. And everybody is busy. Oy.
OtherDude keeps pestering me about his list. I had promised him like, a quarter of a year ago -- pure whim -- that I would provide him with a list of potential partners because his life is sad and meaningless without a whorey dictator. Not that my list is comprised of only whorey dictators. I'm just saying -- those are usually his style.
( OtherDude's List )
And Kiara, who is actually very similar to OtherDude, demanded one as well:
( Kiara's List )
I am sick. Everyone is. Mother reintroduced the Green Pills. I cannot believe I still obligingly accept them. Even when I know she offers the Green Pills as a solution to any and every sickness I contract. Soon she'll be crushing them to mush and applying them as sunscreen. In addition, she added a BlackViscousLiquid. I am suspicious, yet have developed this habit of opening my mouth when she offers me strange things since childhood.
Speaking of Mother -- more and more potato shaped. It's unnatural. And, she's starting to get moldy. She has absolutely no hair on her legs -- never had in her life, and yet she has been developing a very impressive mustache. And she insists on wearing her hair and dressing like a hobo. I seriously believe she is trying to say something, because no sane person chooses an extremely old, piss-mustard colored yellow as their favorite overcoat. Add some bright red gloves, oddly lumpy grey pants, and a bright blue hat... make it potato shaped, and you get Mother. ...With odd facial hair. *shudders*
I am wiped. I probably left out a million things, but I can't go on. I've been updating this one entry for half a month now. One last thing -- my birthday is very, very close, kindly mind. And speaking of birthdays, and therefore gifts -- Baby, thank you so, so much. Whoever first thought, Hm, Chocolate...coffee... LETS MIX THEM TOGETHER AND MAKE THEM BAR-SHAPED deserves a country named after them.
Mmm...Jon. Smart has never been so, very sexy.
 
Current Mood:  sick
Current Music: TV
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11:28 pm
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Harry Potter and the Internet Celibacy of 2005
I've been having odd dreams about my Fluffies.
That's to be expected, of course, after a certain amount of eyeing and stabbing and (mentally)roasting and prodding and pinching and biting. Most of my NumberOne dreams are of me eating or at least chewing thoughtfully on her luscious cheeks, but then came the odd Fluffy#2 dream:
There he was, in a short sequined skirt and pumps, wearing bright nail polish and a hell of a lot of makeup. Said I, (squeaked, rather) Fluffy?? incredulously, to which he examined his nails, bored, and replied that the leader of his anime club had died or resigned or something, and that he had taken over, and had to set an example or statement or something of that sort. I mean, Japan is all about the transvestites and the boys-in-skirts. Look at their men! Half of them can be mistaken for women! My precious baby went on to make speeches, and perhaps he sang a song, but I was too traumatized to further think upon this. Father could be heard in the background, demanding to know why all of my friends were such freaks.
FLUFF: Have you been telling people to squish me??
ME: I...maybe. Well just one! Or two...
FLUFF: People have been queueing up! D'you know who touched me today? Jess.
ME: Oh yeah! That one I sent.
FLUFF: I'd never talked to that boy in my life, and he comes toward me with a horrible look, and I'm like, WTF, yo, and he reached out and pinched me. Pinched me!
ME: I...
FLUFF: And he said, This is from Gwen.
ME: ...love that boy.
I don't know what she's complaining about. I've made her into quite the celebrity. Says Fluffy, someone came up to me today, and said, 'Hi, Fluffy -- by the way, what's your real name?' She seemed very bothered by this. Also, violent -- my evil bunny of doom.
Fluffy#1's firm belief that 99% of the male population is deformed and hideously ugly must be taken in account when she reports that Beck has become downright trollish. She swears his neck has thickened twicefold and his body has bulged bigger than ever due to ceaseless wrestling. The buzz cut I'll believe, but the rest are utter lies. I tried protesting, only eliciting a hysterical scream of, UGLY BOYS SHOULD JUST KILL THEMSELVES from the bad-tempered lamb. Draco has become more veela-esque than ever, his hair and height lengthening. When I rule the world, he'll be one of my first man servants.
In utter insanity, I told Mother about my Fluffies while she did her impression of a sunburnt potato -- a frequency nowadays. As I detailed the Second One, she pointed at me and called my a molesting pervert. As the First One was explained, she pointed at me and called me a lesbian. A lesbian -- I call that rich. This is coming from the woman who oogles at women in bikinis and gets an odd look on spud-like face whenever female nudity is described in the vicinity.
Speaking of the second Fluffy, I have never realized the turdosity of my LiveJournal! Thanks to him, it is now cleaned up, thank you very much. *pats Fluffy#2 gratefully* I was an idiotic thing last year, sometimes.
Subways are very exciting. They reminded me of Disneyland rides, just a little bit. I was grinning like an idiot all the way downtown, though once there, was a huge disappointment. Well, I hadn't bothered to lavish on any makeup, and as I passed by two skimpily dressed girls making out against a wall with about fifty guys coming in their pants in a neat circle, realized that was a mistake. Feeling horribly overclothes, I thought darkly of the bustling nightlife of the big city. But then I realized, if I had my army of skanks with me (or just Anne, for Anne is worth an army and a half of skanky skankness), I'd be very muchly enjoying myself, and cheered at the thought.
I've only just recently discovered the delights of Jon Stewart. Having devoutly watched Jay Leno for the past years, I had never thought of expanding my horizons. Of course not -- my beautiful, wonderful Leno is more than I can ask for. However, was rifling through the channels and came upon the Daily Show. Needless to say, I spend now my nights blowing kisses at the television screen. Jimmy Kimmel is likewise awesome. His Pizza Opera deserves boundless awards, and R. Kelly has never been so funny.
Fate feels very vengeful on me all of a sudden. One of Mother's friends who I've not seen for many a year suddenly makes an appearance. This happens to be a grotesque being to who I feel such intense loathing, seconded only by Grandmother. The thing irks me beyond rational thought, and I hadn't even begun to consider her dirt-like children, who I tortured. Quite horribly, if my vague recollection serves me true.
Mother deserts me, the complete sadist and informs me cheerfully to keep them company. The woman turns her inhumanly hideous attention upon me and begins to talk. I scrunch up my face, willing my body not to shatter to pieces at such a sight. Her voice is her appearance, worse tenfold. The whining and the dragging of her words struck an eville shudder down my person.
UGLY: My daughter came here today specifically to see you. Last she saw you, you were twelve and she was six. She worships you...
ME: Er?
UGLY: *nods* Always have. Gwen this, Gwen that. She never was worth your time. *leers sadly*
ME: *backs away*
UGLY: You always had your friends, and she so wanted to play with you. Even Whitney, who was older, never captured your true attention, and she wanted it so much. Oh, you used to torture my daughter! *laughes*
ME: *snark*
UGLY: You used to dump crayons on her head, and that one time with that shovel --
ME: I -- forgot...the details of my viciousness.
UGLY: Such a temper you had. And despite all the abuse, constant abuse, she never stopped wanting to play with you. I always felt such fear in your presense.
ME: Oh, the endeavors of my youth.
All was fine and well when she was reminding me event by event, all the wrongs I inflicted on her daughter, while I couldn't keep back the self-satisfied smile on my face. Hearing about the shocking child I was always makes me warm and fuzzy inside. Then she tried therapeutically to analyze my own life.
UGLY: *leans in closer than ever* Do you feel resentful of your life?
ME: I feel the same. *attempts to discontinue path of conversation*
UGLY: Tell me about your school life. What do you eat? Why are you so tall?
ME: It's fine. I eat stuff. And my friends' lunches.
UGLY: If only my daughter could be as tall as you... *reaches*
ME: Don't touch my butt!!
UGLY: *a breath away* *whispering tragically* Do you miss your friends terribly?
ME: I...hate my life.
UGLY: *limpid eyes*
ME: *shrinks away* *small voice* You -- kind of...smell.
And then to top off the indignity, I was forced to traipse around on the beach with those horrors. I muttered darkly and kept my distance, until -- hark! Lo, what walketh on thy shore? -- My blood froze. It was none other than Fluffy -- Number Two.
Well, obviously it wasn't really him.
But seriously. Exact replica. It was just like that time when I was walking downtown and saw Beck in a car, one-handedly steering, while his other hand occupied a whore in a green thing. But even more so. Because this one was wearing exactly the same clothes that I swear Fluff owns, shaking back hair exactly the length, style, and color of my lovely's, and walking around with that distinct manner in his pale, pale skin -- and it was all I could do not to run over, screaming "DEE DEE" all the while flapping my arms alarmingly. It is a universal truth that random boys do not appreciate being attacked while they were only minding their business and disturbing the water with innocent rocks.
I would have kept staring longingly, but was suddenly jerked back from my reverie by the advent of vicious dogs trying to eat me. Apparantly, people have nothing better to do than walk their dogs on the beach in the early morning. Not so much walk as take off the leash and let them run rampant, feeding off poor souls as they please. They are big, and they are fast, and if they were to chase after people, as they did me, their fat owners could not run fast enough to my aid. All of them look the same, anyway, so their owners are probably scooping up poop that isn't theirs, and wondering why their dogs' personalities keep changing week after week. I took refuge behind some big rocks for a while.
And then everybody walked over to the playground and fed crushed Dorito chips to the pidgeons and squirrels faffing about. I glowered for a while and then started throwing chips at the wee toddlers playing in the sand. The looked up at me with wide, curious eyes. And then ran away as fast as they could.
Partook in assessment test. Naturally, I overstudied, moaning my absolute hatred for college math, while not at all bothering about English. However, was quite confident as I strolled into the testing area, reviewing my surrounding panickees with an amused air. I cackled a bit, and remembered how gleeful Fluffy was on Doomsday, when everything we'd been working up to for a year -- all those sleepless nights, and pain, and hallucinations -- was to be evaluated at this moment... People were in pieces, having studied feverishly for a month -- no one slept on those last days, and Fluffy, Fluffy -- who had read slash calmly through the last weeks while others plugged their ears and memorized textbooks -- flipped back her hair, raised her eyebrows, and worked through the test with a smirk on her face -- and received top marks, the snarky thing.
As I was saying, I walked in the testing area with intense feelings of -- apathy, and... disinterest. All right, there was Fear rumbling deep in my stomach, but it's probably the Kentucky Fried Chicken I had earlier. I never want fried chicken ever again in my life -- how do fat people put up with it?? I swear, that restaurant will be the leading factor in heart failure.
I made some simple mistakes in the mathematical section -- my brain failed me at first (I'll have you know it was the Chicken) -- but received desired results with respectable ease, going forth to the language half with relief. However, the man who evaluated me reminded me horribly of Dr. Hannibal Lector, his pale eyes gleaming mischieviously. The chicken did a flop. Because I am a humongous and incurable nerd, I calmed instantly when asked to write an essay. I wrote happily all the while thinking about how the characters in the story I was to analyze were so, very gay.
And then Mother had the decency to show me vaginas. Vaginas! She pointed at a picture and said, Look, this is a virginal one, and this is a...married one. Then she pulled out more depictions.
Due to unavoidable inconviences, I was not able to receive my most beloved thing in the world: Harry Potter. My fragile heart laid in Jane Gilda's absentminded hands -- she would mail me my precious. Thus began one of the hardest periods of my life -- Internet Celibacy of '05. I resolutely avoided Internet for half a month, dreading unexpected spoilers to contaminate my brain. I rolled around on my bed for most of said time, muttering and pulling at my hair(also listening to a frightening amount of Coldplay. Coldplay! I mean, really.). A sneak at Maya's LiveJournal told me she had written HBP fanfiction and what appeared to be...Meta. I cried piteously and thought of all the wrongs inflicted on my being. At least now I know why she was raving about Dementors having orgies on her LiveJournal (Being ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) sarahtales...Dementors causing mist when breeding...).
In pure desperation, I reluctantly let Sniffly tell me Harry's OWL scores -- just a small consolance in my long wait. It was an era before I received my book. I remember clutching at it outside the post office, blinking back tears, and thinking in all the world there was not a more beautiful thing.
My mind turns to Anne. She has become resolutely incestuous. At first it was just a whim, all right, fine, comment about how hot your cousins are. But now she's chasing after an unfortunately overweight cousin named Jason. Crazy, that little tart, especially when a much hotter, much taller, and blond cousin is also very muchly in reach. Also, I fear she will pervert my child. Along with that sassy Sophia. I'll have none of that. I still hold true to my RealLife!OPT: FluffyOne and FluffyTwo. Yes, they will get with each other soon. They are practically one person in two bodies anyway. In addition, after reading HBP, my whore emails over a poorly structured:
omg snape kills dumbledor whys he so evil??? lololol.
Leaving me to sigh sadly and promise her a long LJ-cut fully explaining my thoughts on HBP. And here it is (in segments!):
( Ginny the Guinea Pig: Cho Chang, Version II )
( Let's All Bash Harry Repeatedly About The Head With A Heavy Saucepan )
( Snape Misunderstood )
So that's it and all -- Cat must be pleased, along with everyone else who's been threatening me with various degrees of unimaginative torture. I expect new levels of commentosity.
Current Mood: apathetic
Current Music: Speed of Sound
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10:24 pm
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Summer
When School Starts, I WILL NOT
-Miss the bus all the time
-Say things like "Blowjob" or "PMS" at the top of my voice during class.
-Scream "It's CAKE" at people.
-Make everyone hate me on the first day
-Obsess about Harry Potter and slash so much...oh who am I kidding?
-Piss of the teachers
-Get caught reading dirty slash/looking at porn in class
-Raise my hand and say, "I think Gloria specialized in painting vaginas." when the class is having an artist discussion.
-Get my dirty books taken away and read by my English teacher.
Tis what I vowed at the beginning, in another entry. Let's review.
-Miss the bus all the time Of course. Done it many a time. And tried to sneak into class without alerting teachers. But it's a lost cause.
-Say things like "Blowjob" or "PMS" at the top of my voice during class. Shockingly enough, this year has been the worst ever in terms of saying things without thinking. If I sprout feathers, be not alarmed. Tis only the effect of long-term ostrichitis.
-Scream "It's CAKE" at people. Funny thing, cake. Gotten me in a lot of trouble this year. One particular instance was smashing chocolate cake into my teacher's carpet.
-Make everyone hate me on the first day If Harry Potter didn't do it, the gay porn most certainly did. For random fun, my chummies and I sit in various dark corners and yell GAY PORN at random passersby. It only makes females jump. As we have deducted, males stop listening at "gay", and start again at "porn", so as far as they are concerned, a cluster of weird girls sit in corners and yell gibberish sounding suspiciously like GORN.
Thus deeming the next point unnecessary for explaining.
-Piss of the teachers I do remember an instance I thought it would be delightfully hilarious to annoymously insult my English teacher online. Result? I find her leaning against the classroom door waiting for me the next day.
-Get caught reading dirty slash/looking at porn in class I had been adamant in not allowing Blaise's crowd to ever discover this tiny fact, but alas, the entirety of the plane ride to Hawaii was based on a certain disk filled with certain stories left accidently in a certain classroom by a certain individual discovered by a certain friend of Blaise who consulted certain people and promptly, and certainly, deduced just whom the disk belonged to.
-Raise my hand and say, "I think Gloria specialized in painting vaginas." when the class is having an artist discussion.
Well, saying the things out of my mouth was ever chaste is moot.
While we are on the subject matter, and inevitably, periods, I do not believe this much blood loss qualifies near normal. It's like a race out of my vagina and everybody won.
-Get my dirty books taken away and read by my English teacher. Early on, the English teacher did try and read Maya, but that was before she knew me.
Well, that's it, then. I am doomed to lead a life of progressive soiled reputations, progressively worsening. Reflecting upon the last year, the prospect of next year's list's length is frightening.
Summer has been uneventful. A couple of trips to various malls here and there. D'you know what, today is the twins' birthday, actually. Happy Birthday, Arredondos, and I could actually tell you that if you would care enough to have human contact and have so much as a simple email address... In light of their birthday, plot bunnies have bitten me hard, and SnifflyFriend will not approve, but hopefully by the next entry the story will be ready.
Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince looms impressively ever closer. I read about the various contests to meet JK Rowling with jealousy, the prospect of being pampered for a week, attending press conferences, and getting from point A to point B in horse-drawn carriages too much.
I miss my Fluffies. Fluffy#1 isn't so cute as of now. She is tanned and sunburnt, a horrible place for such a fair face. However, in response to my aching heart, I changed my bedspread for one with a cute little sheep pattern, for their bloated faces, but tiny bodies, reminded me of the beauty of the Fluffy.
Current Mood: uncomfortable
Current Music: Tiny Dancer -- Elton John
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07:37 pm
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Finals of Doom
Gwen is BACK! After a long hiatus. It's been nearly two months since I've spun my magic words, how d'you survive? Near fear, faffers, this shall be a long entry.
But maybe not. I know there have been many instances when I have said to myself, Gwen, remember this, and blog it. But I have memory problems. Big memory problems.
So, returning from that pretty little island, I once again revert back to the usual tediousness of Regular School Life. Except it's hardly regular. There's always OMGIWANTTODIE!Embarrasment to spice up Gwennie's life. Take Beck for example. Of course Gwen would stalk him. Of course. Except that nasty little bugger is extremely elusive, and for the first two weeks or so, I could hardly catch a glimpse. And then, I realized, how stupid, think about what Fluffy#1 told you, and use your resources. That is the essential benefit of knowing people in the right places.
And so, after a simple procedure, I had his schedule in my victorious hand. But that really is a great Evil. Latching onto Jen, I stalk him into a building. Though, in excitement, I followed too closely, and as he was reaching for the door handle, he caught my reflection in the polished door window. Alarmed, and cursing bad reflects, both Jen and I veer sharply and extremely suspiciously to the left. *facepalm*
Item number two: Veering is Bad. Veering is Evil. Veering causes great suspicion and notice. Veering should not happen in too many instances. So I did not have time to put on makeup one day, and as I opened a door, I find Beck two feet away and fastly approaching. Thus, I veer violently to the right, and headlong into a wall. I do believe I made a noise similarly to an Oomphr. I bet he thinks me mad. Or determined to avoid him at all costs or something. Arg vei.
Item Three: Subtlety is Good. Alas, subtletly is foreign to The Gwenyth. I blame this on Jess.
JESS: *in front of Beck's sister* Gwen! You told me to report if I saw Beck, and he's over th --
ME: Shut up! *pulls Jess aside* That's his sister right there! SH.
BECKSSISTER: I can still hear you. You whisper very loudly.
ME: I feel like an ostrich. My head is in varying great dirty piles of sand.
Item Four: Really, walking past him over and over in succession does not help your situation. Pointing and staring pointedly increases feelings of discomfort for the person being pointed and stared pointedly at, usually resulting in opinions of disfavor for the person pointing and staring pointedly.
And then to my great delight, the orchestra went to one final competition. Nathan and Beck played cards with SnifflyFriend and I, and it felt like we were back on that pretty little island. But not really. Still. It was enough to get Gwen hyper enough to start spewing out half-chewed chocolate. It was also enough to get her to pick up the spewed out half-chewed chocolate and throw it -- directly into the face of a girl she did not know. And it was enough to get her to apologize in hysterics, wrench the chocolate back and throw it again blindly in another direction -- straight into Beck. Ostrich. In the sand.
Also, I have been watching a plethra of movies. Me, at home, with DVDs lined up in front of me, and popping them one by one into the WonderBox. I cannot believe all this time I have been missing out on the beauty of Van Helsing. Richard Roxburgh is devillishly sexy. I think it's the ponytail. Without the ponytail, he loses 90% of his charm. This is also true of Jason Isaacs. Hair is everything. Hair, Hair, and Hair. And then there's HugeHugh Jackman. Incredible. There's just something incredibly suggestive about his name. About everything of him, really. Last night X-men came on and I licked the screen. Licked it, before I even realized that I had my tongue out and was bobbing my head repeatedly in an up-down fashion.
Exams has been anthrax for my health. Hawaii had left me in an extremely pleasing state of blankness, and made me realize too late that, Oh Crap, I had better get studying. A whole year to cover, I stopped all else, forsaking even my computer, forsaking precious sleep, and studied. I was determined to read textbooks by the whole. My sleeping pattern was rudely disturbed, and I often found myself waking up in weird places and positions.
Also, the breakdowns! There was one time I lost it and complacently flipped through the phonebook for many precious hours, looking up everyone I knew. Additionally distracting is Maya. After a half year of silence, she chose the scant days before Exam to update Underwater Light. I thought, What is more important, and made a mad dash for my computer.
Then, three days before Exam, I lost it completely. Third day, I watched movies all day long, promising myself all night to study. Night came, and I thought, I already lost the day, what's the point, and besides, I need just one day to relax. I wake the next day with two days to go, frantic and cursing myself for wasting a whole day. Thus, with anxiety overload, I did the only logical thing: I spent another whole day watching films. One day left, I was determined to study, but this time, read slash for hours, finally getting down to business around ten at night and with Sweet Coffee's help, studied til dawn. I think I did all right.
Exams has taken all my time for other end-of-year CrucialForGrades!Assignments. I have put every big project off until after the Exam, and then I work feverishly to accomplish a masterpiece, only to have it marked for plagerism. Whole deal of mess with that one. Also, I have been seriously giving Jen grey hairs in my disfunctional cooperation with a group project. I find it pointless and doable at the last second, she has been running around with a mad glint in her eye, cornerning and yelling, making house calls, her usual docile niceness turned murderous by her overachieving nature.
In another part of my life, I have been constantly molesting My Fluffies, and having my Saturday Teacher give me the 101 of How to Make Kitties' Tails Fall Off Using Only A Plastic Bag. Highly enlighting, that is. Other things she has been impressing on young minds are ranged from detailed palm readings to tales of ghosts in Singapore, faffing away the hours we pay to have her teach a subject a far cry from Why Malaysian People Are Fat. Not that I mind. I'm quite fond of her insanity. She did buy us all Snoopy notebooks.
Alas, no more morning orchestra rehearsals. Just when I begin to really enjoy them. This will make stalking Beck a complication.
Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince is so close...so close. Cat and I have been half four-hour long heated discussions about said book, such is the power of our nerdosity. Nathan joins in once in a while, but nothing productive has come from him other than ambitious plans to construct a homemade Goblet of Fire movie, for which the pair of us spent many a hour on casting sessions.
The only thing now that I look forward to in the near future is our orchestra party. Should be interesting. Of course it'll be interesting -- I'll be there. Pah.
My Remus is broken. Apparantly, he needs a new hard drive. *sob* My baby...my heart...my life... Don't worry, I'll fix you soon. Such cherished moments of my life were spent on his screen...
Current Mood: hungry
Current Music: TV in background
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03:21 pm
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Cat Is Evil Rusher Of Doom
Stupid Cat. She flusters the poor baby Gwenyth. Evil!Fiendish!Cat made her forget so many cute little stories and comments to highlight her highly awesome Hawai'i tale with her, Hurry up with your entry, *whipwhip* write for my own personal enjoyment *smackcrack* writefasterwritefaster!!
I cannot take it. My muse ran away, remember? Of course, I got a new one around seventh grade, but that one ran away, too, years ago. And then I got another one barely this year, and she's still young, so you mustn't rush her on things. I haven't had too many humor bunnies bite me either. Though, Plot!Bunnies are biting me left and right. Alas, what's a Plot!Bunny without a feverish muse to get me desperately writing? Am too lazy to accomplish anything in life, yet I plan to take over the world in nine years. Or rather, by nine years... Hmphr. I'll work it out in the end. You'll see.
Anyway, I plan to retell those nice little anecdotes I had originally planned to weave into the masterpiece. It won't be the same, and it won't nearly be as refreshing or humorous, because it's not like, Long, heady information, oooh, look, a fun Random to keep it alive. Hmphr. Stupid Cat. *sigh* All right, I admit, this is mostly for myself, anyway, trying to remember every tiny little thing about Hawai'i. I'm still doing that thing where I check my StillHawai'ianTime!Watch and going, Oh, look, exactly this time last week, I was...
I have letting go issues, so what.
There was a choir there at the festival as well. No, no, they were not a choir.
PERSON: Are you the choir?
CHOIRGIRL: *quickly* No. We aren't a choir. We are the SHOW-mutter-choir.
Anyway, they were very painted up, and we met them at dinner at the PCC, and I was worried I would find a fake nail in my mashed potatoes, or their eyemakeup would drip into the self-serve food. They were from Mississippi, and I gushed over their accents, and ignorant Janet asked me if they were British.
Of course, Blaise never misses a chance to whore it up. After the show choir were all nicely seated at their table, he walks up, casually leans across a chair, waggles his eyebrows in what he thinks is an enticing manner, and says, Hey Ladies... in a forcefully deep voice. Giggles all around. You know, at that rate, those girls will have chipped off all their false eyelashes.
People have scary, scary talents.
ME: *tuning ukulele* Is that an...A?
REB: I think that's a --
SCHMID: *walks up* That is an F#.
ME: What about --
SCHMID: Bflat.
SnifflyFriend and I made a trip to the mall to buy souvenirs for our friends. Which is utterly pointless, really. You people were not there, why do you need a remembrance of a trip you were never on, you silly glommers? If anything, we should be trying to cart off the shirtless blondes we find littered about the sand.
CUSTOMS: Tis a man. He is not baggage.
ME: But I want -- he's a souvenir! A memory! Good times, yes?
CUSTOMS: It's...I mean, he's alive. A living thing!
ME: So stuff him in a dog carrier and get on with it!
Anyway, we finally decided to get leis for everyone, as it is smart and appropriate. I searched long and hard for a coconut bra promised to Jess, but to no avail. Sorry, dude. It's been done. And I have pictures.
SnifflyFriend and I bought as many as we can carry, but still not enough, as we had to buy even more at the Ala Moana Mall on Tuesday night, and even then, we still didn't have enough, and now some people will have to settle for shell leis. *sigh* Why must we be so popular and loved? Tis a curse. A curse, I tell you, look at the Downs! I mean, having this many friends mean that whenever you take a trip to Hawai'i and decide to buy leis for your friends, you're screwed.
With armfuls of flowers, SnifflyFriend and I walked back to our hotels, and saying Aloha cheerfully to every passing person. Some said Aloha in return, most kept their heads down, and were like, I don't want to buy your flowers, eye contact, bad.
Secret Island was one of the highlights, I think. I lost my clothes and underwear there, along with my first pair of sunglasses (The second pair I lost five minutes into wearing them, and then found them later, broken. *swiffle* It was so pretty, too. Both of them were. SOB.), and my purse. Blaise and his silly friends plucked a coconut and spent about two hours cracking it open, all the while laughing erradically and insanely, and thoroughly soiling their shirts.
I have a tendency to scream whenever a stray seaweed twirled around my leg in the water, and Secret Island was full of seaweed. It's just creepy, and I still have phobias of fish crawling up my butt. We threw seaweed around playing Monkey in the Middle. Well, at least it was better than the first time, when it was night at Waikiki and I screamed bloody murder whenever I stepped on squishy seaweed or when OtherDude tried to molest me. They don't have very good security on that beach. If a young girl was screaming at the top of her lungs and flailing about in the water in the dead of the night, shouldn't shirtless hot things come rescue her? And then there was that other time when we were playing Capture the Flag at night on the beach. There was a suspicious looking character lurking about the surfboards and eyeing the game, with rape twinkling in his dilated eyes.
At the State Beach, Jane dramatically told us a story about child molestation. It was very good, and it kept us serious for a change for about half an hour, before we all rushed off to play Capture the Flag again, which is a good excuse to fondle pretty boys. You tag them, right, and then you grab onto their biceps and squeeze and rub a bit before letting go. I'm very impressed with certain individuals. It is also very fortunate to start crushing on people when there's a healthy access of shirtless access available quite often.
I lost my plane ticket for about ten minutes before finding it strewn across the ground. I really need to take more care of expensive things. Well. I really need to take more care of things. Home, I unpack to find I left half my belongings at the hotel, and yet, I carried half the beach home with me. My makeup is filled with sand. ... Knowing me, I'll probably carefully gather and transfer all the sand into a glass bottle and label it or something. I get too attached to things.
Father is an idiot.
FATHER: *bites in lemon*
ME: *facepalm* What are you do--
FATHER: *shriek* EEEEE! IT'SREEEEEALLYSOUR!
ME: IT'SAFREAKINGLEMONWHATDOYOUEXPECT!
FATHER: It's a lemon? Wait. What are oranges?
ME: Orange.
FATHER: And this is --
ME: Bright yellow.
FATHER: That can't be the only difference. That's too similar.
ME: I think you're just colorblind.
FATHER: There has to be another way. *takes another bite*
ME: You just -- Eating that lemon will not solve your colorblind crisis, you know.
FATHER: EEEEEE! IT'SREEEEALLYSOUR!
ME: You JUST bit into it --
FATHER: *takes another bite* EEEEE! IT'SREEEEEALLYSOUR!
ME: Do you have some sort of memory prob--
FATHER: *takes another bite* EEEEE! I will conquer this thing. I'll get you. I'll get you. *glint*
ME: .:disbelief:.
My birthday is in two weeks. April Fifth. Ahem. I will be making lists now.
Current Mood: uncomfortable
Current Music: Elton John
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04:46 pm
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Down At The Beach Of The Waikiki...
( ...There's Someone Special Waiting For Me... )
Cat and Lyn will be coming on Monday to visit, and Anne will be coming Wednesday and Thursday. I am very excited. :D GLEEGLEEGLEE
And now I have an impossible workload to catch up on. But that'll be Sunday. I still feel like I'm riding elevators.
Current Mood: tired
Current Music: You'll Think Of Me
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04:16 pm
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Paradise and Jellyfish
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA .... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA *resumed maniacal laughter* I cometh to Hawaii in the mere days of...*counts* OMG! Freaking four more days!
Itineraries are beautiful. Itineraries are sunlight and roses. Itineraries are food to my ever-craving soul. I heart making lists, and I have a carefully-planned-spontaneous personality. Er. Yes. I plan things out in detail so nothing can go wrong, and then I go crazy and carry out popping thoughts. The lovely orchestra director passed out itineraries, and I blessed her soul. It was wonderful, and I spent the whole of the weekend poring over the length of the two pages. Also making To-Bring lists, and also SnifflyFriend's To-Bring list, as she is irresponsible, and will forget one thing or another, and will absolutely die bumping into wall after wall without my gentle guidance. *sigh* What will that girl do without me?
Sadly, I will have to get up at 3AM in the morning to catch my plane, but it will all be worth it in the end. Even sadder is my bedtime at 8 if I'm to have a reasonable amount of rest. I expect I won't sleep that night. Blaise is also on my plane, as there are two, and even though I am muchly over that stupid boy, I will rape him if the chance arises. Because I have planned to for too long, and it's really not fair that I should stop liking him around the time I planned to rape him so many months ago...
As for SnifflyFriend, she I will donate to the Jellyfish Rape Cause. Another one of my devillishly fiendish plans that cannot possibly go wrong due to my scrupulously careful plotting. In the dead of the night, when everyone is asleep, I shall turn to SnifflyFriend and innocently say, "Hey, SnifflyFriend, fancy a swim in the moonlight? It's much nicer at night, when the noisy crowds are gone." She'll agree, we shall sneak down, and I shall lead her to my prefound Jellyfish Cove. There, I say, "Look, SnifflyFriend, what are those pink squishy things?" And she shall lean foward to scrutinize the mysteries of the Pink Squishy Things, and I push! her into the water.
She will splutter and scramble frantically for land, while I stand on the jutting rock we were both standing on moments ago and laugh appropriately in a sinister fashion. Like so: Mwahahahaha or something to that effect.
Then the jellyfish surround her, and frightens, she looks frantically around for an escape, but finds none! However, she immediately relaxes as the jellyfish start to wave around their tentacles and move their transluscent bodies to the harmonious sound of ocean waves. They'll dance and writhe, swinging their tentacles around in intricate patterns and designs. This goes on for hours, and SnifflyFriend's eyes are wide and dilated, in awe and wonder at the wondrous amazement she has been gifted to behold. Then -- lo, an escape! The jellyfish part to allow her safety, but no! SnifflyFriend does not bear to part with such beauty... And then, suddenly! Attack! From all sides! Pink Squishy Things rush to encircle her body tightly and mercilessly! Screams are muffled by the Pink Squishy Bodies, and then... Tentacle Sex!
And that is how SnifflyFriend will get raped by jellyfish. I will draw a diagram on the plane to further my point. It may not work, since I have already explained to SnifflyFriend in detail exactly what I am to do, but she is stupid enough not to take me seriously.
I must remember to bring a journal of some sort to Hawaii, as I will be there for a week, and my memory suffers from loss quite frequently.
WHAPboy has been improving on his people skills. He helped me find a pencil just last week, brushing across my wrist as he did so. His arm was very very warm. <3 I mark this as leaps and bounds in progress. But I should work on my own progress. Could not help myself from stalking, and I finally had to stop, I said, "Bye" lustfully in my head, but heard it in my ears. Using my quick and sharp wit, I grabbed onto Sophia, who thankfully happened to be near me, and said quickly, "WhatamItalkingaboutSophiawhyamIsaying'Goodbye'toyou?You'recomingthesamedirectionasme.WhenIsaidByeImeantHello,er,Imean,Comeon,Sophia,mustn'tlagbehind." I feel satisfied with my intelligent coverup.
SOPHIA: *facepalm* I can't believe you. He has to be really really thick not to realize your fascination.
GWEN: But...abba..wibba...It was not that bad. I had a nice coverup.
SOPHIA: ...
GWEN: I said "bye" in my head, but I said "bye" out loud.
SOPHIA: Someday, you're going to rape him in your head, but find that you've actually raped him in reality.
GWEN: *smiles*
SOPHIA: That is not something to be happy about!
Jess allowed me to slather makeup on him, which is very delightfully awesome, because Jess makes a very delightfully pretty girl. But he looked more like the transvestite from Silence of the Lambs than anything. In fact, he makes a better girl as... a... guy. Not insulting him or anything, because that is actually a compliment. Being a PrettyBoy is a very high statusy thing. Draco is a pretty boy. Jude Law is a pretty boy. Vincent Kartheiser is a PrettyBoy. I rest my case.
Hawaii!! We are going to be boat cruising, and awards ceremony attending, and pineapple plantation exploring, and Secret Island touring, and Pearl Harbor visiting, and mall hopping, and Iolani Palace aweing, and Hanauma Bay splashing, and theatre watching, and luauing partying, and San Fransisco flight delaying... And also, food! At Planet Hollywood and Hard Rock Cafe and such. And also, performing with our orchestra. But that doesn't matter. All those hours on Waikiki Beach will obliterate those measly hours of playing instruments. And there's so much more! Peto told tales of giant turtles. I have high expectations on seeing those. I will push one out onto the ocean, and ride on it. And if it doesn't float, I will turn it over with its curved, boat like back floating on the water, and ride on its belly. And if it's not big enough, I will tie together multiple turtles and have my fun. I will have my fun.
GLEE.
Current Mood:  excited
Current Music: Sixpence -- Breathe
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04:53 pm
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Vegas
( Las Vegas is the t00b. )
RENAISSANCE FESTIVAL
Was very exciting, as it is my third favorite time period. Was absolutely exhilarated for days, and SnifflyFriend and I enjoyed a nice public transit ride there, annoying the utter crap out of the other passengers drunkenly belting out oldies. I was very awesome, because I dressed up, whereas SnifflyFriend is dead inside and claims she has never enjoyed playing dress-up. Me, I was just happy to have an excuse to traipse around in public wearing medieval dresses.
I grabbed SnifflyFriend's hand and ran the moment a tent came into view. It exceeded my expectations. There was a wench greeting us at the entrance, and I pointed excitedly at her breasts that were falling out of her dress and gushed over her accent.
I was extremely giddy and squealing when I realized everything was man-powered, and the chariots were pulled along by "peasant boys" who were fortunately too poor to afford nice clothes back then, and thus conviently at my pleasure, for they were scantily clad, revealing rippling, tanned muscle beneath. I drooled quite a bit, but it may have also been because of those humongous turkey legs on sale. I spotted one pair of peasants pulling a chariot, who were both blond(!!!). They were both very, very pretty, with their hair pulled into a tight, high pony. The one with longer hair had more sex oozing out of him, yelling advertizement out to the crowd, and looking deliciously indecent, but the other with the shorter blond hair was quiet, and had that quiet, blushing!virgin look, which somehow made him even sexier than the sexy one. Yes.
So SnifflyFriend and I took pictures of the Blushing!Virgin chariot guy, very obviously, too, and even caught him with his hand groping his crotch, such is our stalking prowess and our candid picture abilities. GET THOSE PICTURES TO ME, NOW, SNIFFLYFRIEND. And I shall post them here. :)
We also went on a swinging ride, pushed by two "middle-class" men, whose costumes were slightly more disappointing than the chariot pullers, but still hot nonetheless. I don't think there was one man in costume I didn't like that day, and thus, my mouth was very dry by the end of the day, and as I nursed it with a chocolate covered banana, immature individuals wouldn't stop giggling, as the brown whole banana on a stick did look slightly suggestive as I licked it. And maybe also because I was flaunting my newly bought shirt at the Renaissance Festival that said: Lady by day, wench by night. So people pegged me undeservingly as a whore. But it may also have been contributed by my need to express my exact opinion of the workers.
There were too many stores, and therefore too many choices in necklaces. But I managed, after a whole day of searching. And to my utmost pleasure, WHAPboy was also there at the Festival. WHAPboy, whom I am lusting after more and more these days. I don't know where my taste for rude, loud boys went, for WHAPboy is the BlushingVirgin!Type, and there's just something about quiet boys that you just want to shove up against the wall and shock the panties off of them. However, he grows more confident, and though we do not exactly have conversations, he has acknowledged there is, in fact, others existing on the same plane as he, instead of his usual HeadDownIgnoreTheWorld. (But he's so pretty...) But I controlled myself, and said, "Gwenny, my love, you mustn't waste this day chasing and stalking after that pretty thing. You have to focus on time saving and chariot boy drooling. Otherwise, you wouldn't get much done after wanting to come to the Renaissance Festival for years."
The rides were amazing, the turkey legs were gigantic, and the fraps I couldn't stay away from.
The ride back was similar to the ride to. However, I really had to go to the restroom. (After my refusal to pee at the Festival, because they had toilets, and therefore was not authentic. I wanted ditches, people. Ditches.)
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Now my t00by British friend wants me to write a slash story about him and PSB. And he's been beating the subject to death. Subject being me. But you know, I must finish my Slut!Jared Leto story first. But soon, my lovey.
In further news, the Grandparents have left. Just today. Finally. Now I have miles and miles and an ocean between me and the Old Things. *throws party favors in the air*
Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: If You Don't Know Me By Now
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03:40 pm
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Once Upon A Mattress
As the ever looming musical loomed closer, rehearsal hours increased by shocking levels. It came to be at 10:10pm, one would find oneself nearly dropping in exhaustion, praying for the damned practice to end. I could not feel my feet. They burned fiercely for about two hours, and then went numb. Try standing, walking, dancing for 8 hours straight in heels.
We dealt with stress in different ways. For it was very stressful, what with the spending of 16 hours on campus, and getting four hours of sleep after desperately trying to complete homework.
Some ate ceaselessly, some sang, some sniffed hairspray, and everyone yelled at each other for tiny reasons. The stage manager could be seen, wide-eyed, venting dramatically to anyone she could hold. We were all silly drama queens at one point or another.
And then there was Jude. Jude, Jude, Jude. Now there's a man who knows how to deal with stress. He relieves himself by fondles, humps, and bending girls over his lap. Every time you see that pretty manwhore, he has a different girl plastered to his middle.
Now, the disturbing thing is, he seemed to have a preference for our choral director, who worked with us during rehearsals. She would play the piano, and he would go sit by her, their bottoms touching inappropriately on the bench. She would sit in the audience, and he would trail after her, and sit next to her the dark, his hands hidden from view. He always laughed too loudly at her jokes. He followed her like a lovesick puppydog. The touching and massaging was really not necessary.
MIDDLE OF REHEARSAL
JUDE: *whines* Come on, let's go, let's go now...
CHORAL DIRECTOR: Hold on *continues talking to cast*
JUDE: Pleasepleaseplease *grabs CD's hand*
CD: Hush, Jude.
JUDE: *guides CD's hand towards own crotch*
CD: O.O Ahem. I will be back in -- er, 10 minutes --
JUDE, CD: *mad dash*
And then once, he took off his shirt. Director says, "Jude, lift this" and he takes off his shirt. When questioned, he said he got in his way. The boy wears shirts so tight you can see his nipples bulging out, how was it in his way? But who am I to complain. If someone is that pretty, they deserve to flaunt it. Hell, if I were that pretty, I would be screwing the world, one blonde at a time. ... I'll do that anyway.
Stage make-up is obscene. We all come out looking like pigs forced into cosmetic testing. It is to ensure even the back row can see our expressions, thusly we must paste on two inches of concealer, half a pot of blusher, and ten pounds of eye makeup. Hair curling is a painful business. It takes about ten tries and three hours before I figure out: I Need a Hair Bitch To Do My Hair For Me.
Jude looked very erotic in a Rent Boy, Dance For Me, Yes, Writhe That Lithe Body! sort of way. Mmm, blusher and eye liner are such aphrodisiacs. But only on Jude, and certain other pretty boys.
Performance days were very muchly awesome. Looked for WhapBoy in the crowds, but didn't see him. But then, they were very large crowds, especially on Saturday. It was a great load of fun. And it was like, Yes, Drunken Scene! And while makeup-ing, we sang awesome 80's songs. That feeling of showtime is so... well, lesbianistic, but really, it's magical. But about the lesbianistic feel -- Well, there's something about dark backstage tension that makes you grab other girls' asses. We had a nice little grope fest. Kathryn is my t00b. Hail, Queen Aggrevain.
On Friday, I said, Nay, I am not going home just to come back again. I shall stay until showtime. So, I deviously coerced Mark into stalking WhapBoy with me without either knowing. And then we walked to Taco Bell, and then Baskin Robbins, where upon I broke my freaking jade bracelet opening the freaking door. It was the very first day I wore that bracelet, too. That bastard Mark. It's all his fault for not being gentlemanly and opening the door first. Seriously, I am getting pissed off. It's high time I had a dragon slain in my virtuous, maidenly honor.
And then who should I find working at Baskin Robbins by Matt? Last time I saw him was two years ago. Fond memories I had with him. Especially that one memorable Flagstaff trip... He'd grown about five inches, and thinned out entirely in a very well built way. We stared at each other for a while, and I would've chatted but for his boss yelling at him to serve some other old lady. Mmm. I must make a point to visit Baskin Robbins more frequently.
Saturday. Regionals, yes.
Twas very fun. There was a bus to contain musicians who were going to Regionals which I took, along with SnifflyFriend. Bus ride there, had headphones on very loud, and screeched along with my Jared Leto(!!) CD. Removed headphones to find bus completely silent. I never learn. Have done this too many times.
Freezing cold there, and my poor, thin self was wearing only a skirt. Well, and you know, a top, obviously. Was not...shirtless, or anything. You know. Like, I had decent coverings, and...whatnot.
Anyway, it rained. And it hailed. And the thunder was not like anything I'd ever heard before. It was like, SkyRipping loud. And everyone was like OH MY GOD THE APOCALYPSE ARMAGEDDON END OF THE WORLD
And did I mention is was freaking freezing?
Prank called people with Ky in the bitingly cold rain while shakingly sipping coffee. Also played Egyptian Rat Screw, which I still do not get.
Judge loved us. My quartet, that is. Gushed on and on about how many years we have, lucky us, for us to perfect our union and become one. Erk. She was frazzledlingly giddy for our...fortune. Am quitting next year, kept reminding myself in my head as she raved about our perfect complimentary, and our rewarding progression yet to come. You know, events like these really make me regret my decision to quit orchestra next year. I love these festivals, competitions... I will not have this regret. All it takes is to think of all the embarrasment throughout this year. Besides, I shall properly join chorus, and you know, shag Jude and stuff.
My sweet Lynn with her wonderful buns(cheeks, northern) came, and I squished her like there was not tomorrow, because there isn't...er, Lynn-cheeks-wise. Because alas, she attends not the same campus, and I haven't seen her in a good year. And Lynn has the softest, squishiest cheeks I've ever squished so far. Which is saying a lot, so I gave her a great, loud smooch on her silky soft cheekies. Cat came, too, my sweet (though not referring to her temper) Harry Potter co-intense-Fan'er.
Read a hell of a lot of Alexander Meta. And then lots of Stone Interviews, etc. Must rec. insightful beauties:
( Conquer This Fake LJ-Cut And You Will Conquer Death )
Best thing I've ever read on the movie and its relations with history. Very insightful.
( Fortune Favors The Fake-LJ Cut )
Oh, my hero, Mr. Stone.
( The Greatest Fake LJ-Cut That Was Real )
Read at least the article, "Were They Lovers?" Jeanne Zimmerman is my hero.
Thank you, my lovely Jen, I love the Alexander soundtrack. I've been listening to it as I try to sleep, and even now. It's beautiful. *hugs* Now, burn me Alexander, the movie, quickquickquick! LOVES.
Current Mood: recumbent
Current Music: Eternal Alexander -- Vangelis
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03:50 pm
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California
We shall drive up to California, decides Father. We shall drive because I am too cheap a bastard to buy airline tickets, regardless of the fact that if I didn't buy half the amount of computer books I never read and instead infest the bookshelves collecting dust, and bacteria, and other floating particles, we'd have enough money to pay for a thousand vacations, announces Father.
Yes, it's Disneyland, happiest place on Earth, and also Universal Studios, which is pretty cool, but travel day dawned gloomy and cold, and I sat dejectedly on my bed early in the morning, forlorn. A vacation with the Parents is bad enough, but add Grandmother, and I might as well shoot myself through the mouth. I decided not to go -- spare myself the humiliating pain.
It was my sweet Anne that saved me. She decided to travel with us, and keep me company. My hero, my love. It was at the same time that Grandparents whined about jet lag and still being tired, and overtaxation. They refused to be dragged to places. I thanked God, kissed the air, and also things that were in sight, and promised to be more religious in the future.
Father decided to be bitchedly PMSy in the duration of the ride, thusly my would-be fun road trip with Anne was ruined. That man will poo on anything. It's strange how nastily petty he can be. I swear, he is a girl at heart. The fascination with women's shoes and periods...and the fact that he owns more eye makeup than I do...
Carsickness has been a problem since childhood. I absolutely cannot stand sitting in a car for longer than half an hour. I get awfully sick and vomit-active. What do you know, Father cannot drive at all. He is insanely break friendly, insisting on slamming his foot down as hard as he can on the breaks every five seconds. Likewise the acceleration pedal. Steady your transitions, says I. No sudden slamming of pedals, says I. But does he listen? He just gets nasty. Blames it on the brand new car. My body was weak with trembling shivers when I arrived in California, I was so carsick.
We shall stay at a motel, says Father. We shall continue to save money on important things regardless of the fact that if I didn't buy every memory key I came across and don't even use and likewise sit on shelves, collecting dust, and bacteria, and other floating particles, I'd have enough money to pay for a thousand grand penthouses, announces Father.
D'you know, people get killed staying at motels?? People get attacked in the shower by ax wielding maniacs, and no one can hear you scream, or they hear, but they think it's just people having sex or something, because motels are filled with people going to cheat on their spouses, yeah?
It was horrible, and I forgot to bring shampoo, and the motel doesn't supply them, and I could never get to a damn store in time before closing out of sheer sadism of fate, so I was forced to wash with Motel!Soap. Could've been worse. And then since I packed in ten minutes before leaving time, I forgot to pack more clothes, thusly forced to sleep in my day clothes, and it was uncomfortable, and I couldn't relax, because the bed felt dirty with dried up sperm or something. At least I got to watch my Leno.
I discovered how my sweet Anne has astrayed without my guiding presense over the years. She is disgustingly into rap, and very muchly pedophillic, with tendencies of incest, and spends her spare time on chatsites, picking up strange boys. I say to her, I say, You're going to get raped one day. But she just scoffs, idiot churn. And then she has the nerve to look offended when I tell her, her newly waxed eyebrows make her look cheap.
Even without Grandparents, there were still old people in our travels(in another car, Parents' friend and his parents were accompanying us). Said Parent's Friend to Anne and I, since we know Disneyland and Universal Studios best, Pick rides that the Old Folks can go on. What if their hearts fail, high blood pressure, yadda yadda yadda.
Anne and I picked the fastest, most turbulent rides we could find.
Sadism make vacations more memorable, is what I always say. Idiots, you'd think they'd learn after asking, "Is this ride scary? Is it fast?" And getting a reassuring, "Of course not", but then discovering it was even worse than the last for the umpteenth time, to stop mindlessly trusting us, but no. They follow where'er you lead. Heehee.
I wanted to bang the actor dressed up as Van Helsing on the spot, and took a picture with the cardboard cutout of Matt Damon -- scowling, looking criminally in a trenchcoat while I smiled brightly and waved. Souvenirs are much too overpriced, and the Little Mermaid actress must have no nerve endings, in nothing but her coconut shelled bra, ten feet in the air, at the parade in the freezing New Year's Eve night.
Which bothers me. Coconut shelled bras, that is. I mean, if mermaids do exist, they wouldn't go out there looking for seashells in the conveniently perfect rounded bosom shape of a bra. Such perfectness does not exist. And they wouldn't be comfortable, the hardness of the stuff. Their nipples would be worn down to the nub. ... Maybe I think about this too much. (Or maybe if they use seaweed padding on the inside...?)
The magic of Disneyland I still could feel, and that was good thing. I particularly enjoyed the Indiana Jones adventure and the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, in which I sang along to "Yo Ho, Yo Ho, A Pirates Life For MEEEEE" very obnoxiously. And my eardrum popping strings of obscenities during the Bobsleds ride was very impressive.
It rained that day. We bought eight blue trashbags stamped with the Disneyland logo they like to call "Rain Ponchos" from a man who had an eerie smile pasted unendingly upon his face (which is pretty much a necessity, if you are going to have such a job) for more than fifty dollars, just to have it stop raining the moment we have them in our possession.
Anne and I met an Australian family on the tram. We were sitting in front of them, and I heard a British-sounding accent behind me. I GLEE'd. Said I, I said, to Anne: "Quick, turn around and see if he's hot." She took too long, so I turned, a wide grin upon my face, to find...a balding middle-aged man...with two children sitting by him. It's all right, though. If he has such a spiff accent, it doesn't matter if he's ugly. I adored the family at once, and we set about talking of kangaroos. Apparantly, they own one as a pet. It was brill.
The Van Helsing: Fortress Dracula was much too frightening for my young heart. Sure, I can take straight drops down on adventure rides, but those actor-monsters in the haunted houses GRAB at you!! The first witch we encountered chased Anne around in circles because she screamed, "OH MY GOD, DON'T TOUCH ME PLEASE DON'T TOUCH ME" We kept ramming ourself into the Fat Man's flesh in front of us, to get away from the beasts, electronic and human.
They was ridiculously long, those maze-like pathways, and at the grand finale, with a huge electronic monster half-way blocking the exit, I dropped my purse in front of it. I was already half way to pissing my pants in fear, tramautized by the mirrors and the tunnels and the monsters, and here, I drop my purse in the PITCH BLACK right in front of the biggest monster of them yet. I scramble on my hands in knees, quivering in front of the damned piece of machinery for FIVE MINUTES before a kind soul reached down and found it where I failed. It was horrible.
Thus ends my story.
I have selfish friends.
JUDE: *walks past*
ME: *thunk* Is it possible that he got hotter over Holiday?
FRIEND: Not really. You're just --
ME: I really want to stick a flagpole up his ass.
DENNY: I think that's a first.
ME: That's it. I've had it. Look at him, walking... Pah! He's just asking to be raped!! I'll do it. Now, you have to knock him out for me. This way, if we get caught, I'll only be charged with rape, and you will be charged for assault; that way, you can take some years of my prison sentence.
FRIEND: Now why would I do that? There's nothing in it for me.
ME: You're so selfish, SnifflyFriend.
And I'm like, Denny, don't you think Jude looks a bit faggoty? I mean, look at him -- he's too pretty not to have some inclinations... any guy would have at him. And she's like, you are the only one who will want your crush to do another guy for your own voyeuristic pleasures, and I'm all, he's totally a bottom boy, I can just picture someone ramming his cock up Jude's tight little ass, and she's like, yeah, and then you'll go up with him and stick a pole up his bottom, and I say, of course, he'd look so much sexier with that permanently jutting out of his Paradise like a signpost, and she's like, randomize, thank Allah for not killing the white people.
And I cannot dance with him anymore. Damned directors. Jude has another scene he needs to make a grand entrance in, so he cannot participate in the dance scene with me. Instead, I get paired up with a stinky boy in glasses. :( But I still held his hand yesterday, because Jude was filling in for another person, and it was Good. Also, I must learn not to say things like, "Look at him. Don't you just get the urge to stick your tongue between his legs?" and have people hear and inquire who. I forsee another Blaise incident.
In addition, I MUST stop torturing my teachers about Jared Leto. Speaking of Jared Leto, I am currently writing Real Person Slash: Jared Leto. It focuses on Jared's life -- his previous tendency for young blond things, and then his realization of his undying love for Colin Farrell in the duration of filming Alexander.
Speaking of Alexander, I heard someone is making another Alexander the Great movie. I am excited, but I know it will not be as slash friendly as Oliver Stone's, because of the box office fiasco, which has ignited in my heart a flame that will not die soon.
Stomach pains are the worst. Fortunately, it was painkillers I found on the ground that saved me today, after being denied morphine from my supposed friend, who supposedly was looking out for my own good, the bastard.
...
No words to describe what beauty he possesses. Is it any wonder he was voted into World's 50 Most Beautiful People for twice? I'm in love.
Current Mood: groggy
Current Music: Edge of the Earth -- Jared Leto!! (30 Seconds to Mars)
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