Aliens yes/no?

manadreal and I made some of our own Twilight valentines from pictures I found online and a whole lot of glitter glue. Pictures under the cut!

( Jake needs to lay off Bella's lip gloss... )

Okay, I owe artemischan, ptath03, sonicsora, yuuzaiden, momotouchesduck, nekokittyky and vadadaca a favor of some kind. So, go ahead and make a fic request or take an I.O.U which you may then redeem at any time for whatever you may think of.

Now, for those of you doing some last minute shopping and wondering what you should get ME for valentine's, I have a few suggestions in the form of this FANTASTIC list. I think you'll enjoy it quite thoroughly.

( Check it )

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get some sleep so I can be ready for my Star Trek/dance party.

Hello guys, I'm doing a survey in one of my classes. If ya'll would like to fill it out I'd owe you. Maybe write some fic requests, who knows. So yeah...please fill it out. lol

( Survey! )

I've been so busy lately. I have three essays due (one in forty-five minutes) by Wednesday, I have to cast my vote, I have to mail a whole bunch of shit, then I have to work on not going broke...

Yikes.

Next term I'm taking a bunch of non-homeworky type classes (PE mostly) so I might actually have time to go online and stuff.

So, yeah. Love you guys <3 ttfn

So, I'm in the middle of my first day of college. It's...interesting. I have a lecture in about 20 minutes on the development of cyborg culture and societal dependence on technology.

<3

There's but ONE Starbucks on campus by my classes, but it's a constant rush. Attempting to order seems fairly pointless, but if I'm going to take an android lecture seriously, I need a latte stat. lol

The only sad thing is that, while Michelle and I are both on campus right now and we'll both be on campus tomorrow, I'm probably not going to see her until Wednesday. Wtf is with your schedule, dear? I miss you~! D:

I'm being bombarded by plot bunnies, but I'm too tired and sore (not to mention working) to have time to write! It's all very depressing. I'll see if I can't crank something out tonight...

Ugh! It's like fucking Marilyn ALL OVER AGAIN! Grrrr...

Heard about this over in the jokerxharley community: apparently, Mary-Kate Olsen is refusing to answer questions about Heath Ledger's death unless she's granted protection from prosecution.

If you're interested you can read about it here at AOL.com which I happen to think is a rather credible news source.

Anyways, the fact that she's demanding protection makes me think she's guilty of something. Of course, I could be wrong but...*sigh* it couldn't be as simple as an OD, could it? Where's the fun in that? If only all these hot young actors would follow Tom's lead, we'd have a bunch of Scientologist kids who refused to put drugs of any kind in their bodies. Then this kind of shit could stop happening. I'm just sayin' is all...

So, you know those tiny motorcycles? The ones you hear ten seconds before you see and you think, "damn that's a loud engine! This thing rounding the corner has got to be a beast!" but it's just a tiny fucking bike. And they always seem to be driven by wangstas (generally of the "white rapper" variety) for some unknown reason, despite the fact I'm nearly positive they're built for six-year-old boys. *eyeroll*

So anyways, I'm out for a walk today when when of these idiots on his bitty bike rounds the corner. We're on a really long straight away so I see him coming. You can tell by looking at this guy he's one of those wangstas, who thinks he's some sort of John Wayne BAMF as well as God's gift to women. So, as he draws nearer I stare intensely until he looks up at me, and then I make a show of slowly drinking him in with my eyes. His gaze locks with mine, we stare for a moment...and then I begin laughing as loudly at his expense as I possibly can, ensuring that even after he blows past me (at roughly 15mph...haha) he can still hear me cackling.

Prick.

...maybe you had to be there? *shrug*

You know what's really nice? When you're close enough to someone that there's no awkward pauses, no tentative reaching out or touches laced with uncertainty. It's really nice to show up at someone's house knowing the door will already be unlocked for you, so that there's no time wasted between the time you park out front and get upstairs to hug him hello (as is your habit). It's really nice when you're close enough to someone that you can look in their eyes and sense what they're thinking. When he leans into your platonic caresses and lounges against you, in your arms because that's where he's comfortable.

Greatest. Friendship. Ever.

Who was it that posted a blog (like, forever ago) about the Batman episode where Joker nabs a TV spot in which he says, "So, if you want to avoid any unhappy landings, send $40,000,000 to me, The Joker. That's FORTY MILLION DOLLARS! Operators are standing by! And remember, don't send it by air mail!" *evil laughter here*

Seriously, who was it?

I want to squee over it with you.

As for everyone else, let's all take a moment to marvel at the irony of me not liking Batman until after Dalton and I broke up, after he spent five years trying to get me hooked on it. And also, that the Joker is both his and my favorite character? And all he wanted to do while we were dating was share in his fanboy love? LOLOLOLOLOL

This is yet another reason why I'm sure our love was never meant to be. Too bad he's still hopelessly in love with me. Why is it that whenever it seems I've FINALLY gotten my ducks in a row my life turns into a fucking soap opera?! It's the kind of situation where you HAVE to find it funny, or you'll just go crazy. Kinda like choir was this last year...*tries to repress memories*

You know what a really bad idea is? Waiting until your daughter has spent two days watching all the old episodes of Batman the Animated Series that have the Joker in them (he and Harley make me giggle) and then tell her she probably shouldn't spend $700 on that California trip since she'll have to use all her $8.50/h wages to pay for college all by herself.

I don't get a car.

I can't afford a new dress or a camera.

Moving out would be like commiting financial suicide.

So, is anyone on my f-list a celebrity/relative of a celebrity I can abduct and hold for ransom? Do ya'll have any tips for knocking over banks, or stealing rare gems? Should I have a costume or a gimmick or something? Thoughts?

Anyone?

Stolen from kinectra

See guys, I do read your blogs, even if I don't always reply...lol

In other news, I think I'm going to start making more public entries. Hmmmm.

OBSERVE! TEXT! You can ignore this if you aren't me. kthxbai!

Hotel perchance?
Le Entertainment
Transportationz

For anyone who's interested in using Nair:

When they say, "do not leave on skin longer than 10 minutes," they aren't fucking around. Get that shit off in 10 minutes.

Everyone deals with grief differently. My methods of getting through it are pretty generic though. I get quiet, reclusive, introspective. I often times feel like an empty shell holding nothing but the fragments of my thoughts which, horribly enough, spin around in a whirlwind of emotions.

Grief is made worse when it's caused by losing someone you've loved for years. All the tiny little details around you remind you of him, and you dissolve into tears before anyone has a chance to realize your expression has changed from one of impassivity to pure agony. It's these little details, the watch on your wrist, the airfreshner in your car, the apple pie in your freezer, the sheets on the bed, the newest film to finally make it to DVD that you dragged him to see in theaters a million times, to the point you could both quote it line for line...these are the things that truly break you. After all is said and done, and the screaming ends, and you think you're okay, these are the things that remind you there's still crying to be done.

I want everyone to read this and understand that if I am very meek and quiet, and then suddenly in tears or acting like an ice queen and directing all my bitchiness at you, it's nothing personal. I'm just hurting. A lot. It's not your fault, and don't be insulted or upset. I'll tell you I'm sorry in advance: I'm sorry. Remind me that I lashed out at you once I've moved on and I'll bake you some cookies or something. Or maybe I'll bake you apple pie, since I no longer have anyone else to bake it for.

So yeah, if I snap it's not because I'm angry at you, I'm just grieving.

It occurs to me that after I was forced to start f-locking all my journals, I neglected to make ANY public ones at all. I bet you kids were starting to think I had died or, those of you who know me in the "real world," were probably bored out of your minds wondering what sort of mayhem I was getting into and not telling you about.

Well, let me fill you in on the last couple months: after being arrested at a political protest turned anarchist riot, I was shipped to Guantanamo Bay and forced to drinks kegs and kegs of beer so they'd have a reason to put me on trial (apparently underage drinking is now an act of terrorism). Fortunately, a special Buddhist monk task force came to my rescue and placed me in the hands of the Swedish mafia for safe-keeping. While in their care I was employed as a snitch, using my new high-tolerance to alcohol I drank all suspected two-faced double-crossers waaaaaaaaaaay under the table and got them to reveal all their secrets to me in their drunken stupor. Unfortunately, all that drinking had an unexpected impact on my delicate French-Canadian constitution, and I developed strange magical powers. I then used these powers to escape the hold of the Swedes and pick up a variety of hot men including famous pop stars who shall go un-named so as to protect my street cred. After that I settled down in a small town on the shore of the red sea with Pablo, the pool boy of one of said pop stars (who also happens to come from a long line of kimono makers). We make a tidy living renting rooms and training young mutants in the art of kung-fu. Also, I've taken up knitting.

I'm so sorry I had to wait until NOW to tell you this but, after certain parties *cough*Fletcher*cough* stumbled across this journal and began to make my life a living hell, I had no choice. Forgive me, I had no idea that there wasn't a place where I could take refuge without fear of being judged or found out and then spat at with my own words and confessions. So, for those of you who thought I was dead because you saw no entries from me, know that it is not YOU who is to blame, but the bastardpeople who invade my personal space and turn my words against me who ruined everyone's fun.

But in all seriousness. I haven't done anything interesting. Except perhaps be disillusioned and car-less. Oh, also, I was in a play. Sorry to dissapoint...

So long, farewell and all that.

So in my Japanese class the upper classmen are doing a karaoke project and two of my friends are doing the dance from Hare Hare Yukai. They have recruited me to dance with them. It's fantastic. Below you may view the dance of which I speak (I'm supposed to be the girl with the short purple/greyish hair).



And then there's this other dance that I think Mishi, Cat and I (and other people too huh?) should learn because it's totally awesome (no but really, we should cosplay this at kumoricon '08 because I can actually look like some of these girls no problem)!

Yeah, you should watch it because it is the coolest/cutest/funniest/most crack-tastic thing Japan has ever put out. It's less than two minutes and it is so worth your time. Oh my God.



In other news, my good friend arroweh brough me the Legend of Zelda Ocarina of Time manga straight from Japan! I love it more than I love chocolate cake. Seriously. Manga!Link is so cute!! Even though he's, you know, a manga character...whatever. Nintendo better come out with a Twilight Princess manga! *swoons over Link*

So for my AP English class I have to decide what I think poetry is and then write a poem following that logic. I decided that I think poetry (especially the stuff we've been reading in class) is an over-complicated way of communicating a relatively simple idea. So, I am now writing a ridiculously abstract poem that will eventually convey this message:

Barricade is teh 1337 awsum!!!11!

Unfortunately, I always feel like such an ass when I try and write poetry. Seriously. I am nobody's poet. I mean really. I feel like an ass.

Anyways, if you want to read it you can find it ( here )

thanks again for everyone who has been supporting me and my family both online and in real life. fortune has smiled upon my family! mom is doing great, her friend is the hospital administrator so she's helping us witj the money issue, she's been hired by a wonderful company in spite of her injury and her PT says she might be walking in a few weeks!

basically, that means everything I was worried about is moot so life is good again! I just hope things stay that way.

I love you all. thanks again! i'm sorry I haven't been replying to your comments/entries that much/at all but I haven't been home. even now i'm posting this from my phone in the hospital cafeteria. anyways, see ya later! ja ne! :)