Thursday, March 20, 2008

afaf43f
Last day of school before spring break. Now I've got an entire 10-day-holiday in my wake, and I have no idea what to do with it. Oy... Anyway, it's been a while since I made a quiz, so I decided to make another one. This one determines which role you'd play if you were an anime character. So, for anyone, who's interested, well, here ya go:

1.Which of the following weapons suits you the best?
A. *scoffs* All of them! Duh! I mean, really. As if you can ever have enough weapons! (although, personally, I prefer guns and explosives.)
B. Weapons...? Now, whatever would I need those for? *genuinely unsuspecting, innocent smile*
C. *smug chuckle* Please. I don't need a weapon--I'm already lethal enough on my own. *wink*
D. Why, a huge-ass sword, of course! After all, what else would look more magnificent between my beautiful face and long, flowing, (insert color here) hair? Not to mention, I can strike all the best poses with a sword. (Don'cha wish your evil samurai was hawt like me? Don'chaaaaaaaa....?)
E.BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! SPORKS!!! SPORKS AND POP-TARTS AND ELVES AND KETCHUP PACKETS!!!!!! MYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA...!!! *extracts grenade out of nowhere, bites the top off, and carelessly chucks it off into the distance*
F. *glares evilly at person D* HEY!!! That's MY huge-ass sword!!!! *chases down person D*

2. Which of the following anime's best suit you?
A.Hellsing
B.Sailor Moon
C. Umm.... Pretty much any anime with excessive fan service.
D. DNAngel. (Cuz I'm too sexxy for just ONE personality/identity. ;3)
E.FLCL. (LET THE SPASTIC NONSENSE COMMENCE!!!)
F. Rave Master

3.Would your character-type be considered relatively popular amongst most anime fans?
A. Well, judging by the thousands and thousands of fan ficts that fawn over me beyond belief, I'd say, yeah, I have my fans here and there.... and there... and here... and over there... (This could go on forever.)
B. Not really. The fan-girls are always blaming me for getting the sexy protagonist in trouble because whenever the villain captures or attacks me or whatever, it's always up to him to rescue me, and I suppose the whole process just gets tedious after a while.
C. Uhhm... Only the ones who LIKE scantily-clad, armed-and-dangerous chicks with boobs the size of watermelons... (Hey. It's fan service. SOMEBODY'S gotta do it.)
D.*scoffs* Please. You even have to ask? Honey, just look at me! Really. Would anyone THIS pretti-ful be unpopular? Uhhh, I think not. (Not to mention, if anyone DOES admit to not liking me, I could always do some persuading with my little friend here. *gestures to HUGE, ominous-looking gun*)
E. Well, not really. But my homies, the voices in my head say I'm alright, so... *shrug*
F. Well, of course, I... *is interrupted by ringing cell-phone.* Uh, hang on a sec... Hello?... Oh, hey, wassup... What?.... WHADDAYA MEAN THE ANIME FANS DON'T LIKE ME?!?!!?!!? Dude, how can they not like ME?! I'm the freakin' main-character!!!....Huh...?....WHADDAYA MEAN THEY THINK I'M TOO REPETITIVE AND STEREO-TYPICAL AND PREDICTABLE?!?!?! *goes into angry chibi mood*

4. Pick a lyric, any lyric.
A. Are you mothafukka's ready for the new shit?
B. Sweet dreams are made of this. Who am I to disagree? Traveled the world and the 7 seas. Everybody's looking for something...
C.The only thing hotter than you on a roll is you in this role.
D. Drink down that gin and kerosene and come spit on bridges with me. And just to keep us warm, light a match and leave me be. Keep quiet. Nothing comes as easy as you. Can I lay in your bed all day? I'll be your best-kept secret and your greatest mistake. (Hand behind this pen relieves a failure everyday.)
E. I see a man in the back and he's ready to crack as he raises his hands to the sky. And the girl in the corner? She's everyone's mourner. She could kill you with a wink of her eye.
F. NANANANANANANANANA, BATMANNNNNNNNNN....!!

5.What's your favorite genre of anime?
A.Anything with epic fighting scenes.
B.*dreamy sigh* Romance.
C.Doesn't matter.
D.Hey. Category doesn't matter. If the plot is in need of a suave, sexy, manipulating, victimizer, then, man, I'm there.
E.The drug-induced kind! X)
F.Action
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Tuesday, March 18, 2008

No time for proper post. Sorry.
Things that have changed:
1.Cute skater/sk8er dude in my 7th period likes me.
2.My bangs are mustard-colored.
3.I am no longer stalking Dannyko.
4.Dannyko is no longer That Bitch. (I mean, you guys can still refer to him as that if you want, but I'm not going to.)
5.Dannyko has evidently noticed that he is no longer That Bitch and I am no longer stalking him. (I say this, because during lunch, as I was walking by his table, he looked RIGHT AT ME and, just to see what I would do, made the "<3" symbol with his hands.)
6.I have discovered that there does, in fact, exist a band called Harry and The Potters.XD
7.Unfortunately, Harry and THe Potters are really not that good. Although I must agree with them when they say Voldemort Can't Stop The Rock....

Love, Shadowme
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Sunday, March 9, 2008

I am a girl anachronism
Hola.
Went to a party last night. It was thrown by one of my mom's friends, but there were a bunch of kids my age there. One of the guys was named Toby, and I really liked him. Despite his acme, he actually looked pretty good. Not to mention, he was freakin' hilarious. But, as usual, no luck.
And, in other news, I think I'm going insane. We went out to eat at this restaurant earlier to celebrate my moms birthday, and I was so sick with paranoia, I was about to cry. And every time That Guy's little sister comes over, I always get all morbid and tantalized. Oy... I swear.
I'm about to have a mental breakdown.
Wouldn't be surprised if I started hallucinating right this second...

I'm not okay and I'm not a K.O.
This rush is just too much.
"Cross my heart and hope to die..." ?
Well, fine: who's to say I'm not better off dead anyway?
The words in my head can't keep up with the shivers in my spine.
And, oh "maybe next time" ?
Don't feed me that bullshit line.
You know as well as I do that I can only ever shine when I'm out-shined
Because I can never afford to be out-spoken.
Well, douse my confidence and feed my self-doubt.
They call me a bomb-shell, but it feels like the whole damn world's about to explode.
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Thursday, March 6, 2008

THE CATALYST, CHAPT 19: DEEP BREATHS OVER SHALLOW SUBJECTS
Hey, you!
Yes, you, standing/sitting/laying there, leafing through the pages of this book. Are you at all interested in delightfully nonsensical, ultra catchy, somewhat over-played songs performed by eye-liner-clad pretty boys in painfully tight pants? If not, then what the hell are you doing still reading this story on the NINETEENTH chapter?! Go back to your precious Led Zeppelin albums or something!
If so, then come here. Grab an ear-bud and direct your attention to the speakers. I’ve got something you’re going to like. Ready? Alright. Listen to this:


Oh, it’s just the exposure of an exploitation
Of an “extra, extra, rhyme all about it”
Taking ex’s to the extreme
Fell asleep in free-fall to the soundtrack
Of your screams.

This pen is your microphone
And this page is your amplifier.
So scream us a song of unfulfilled
Dreams of fulfillment and watch
The room catch fire.

And, yeah, you know you want to.
But they know you won’t.
“Hey, Mister, how do get
Your tears to turn that shade of
Red?”
Oh, it’s all in the paranoia, kid.
(All in the paranoia)

This pen is your microphone
And this page is your amplifier.
So scream me a song of unfulfilled
Dreams of fulfillment and watch
The room catch fire.

Watch the room catch fire.[2X]
Watch the room… (woah…)
So light the fuse in a flash
And watch them all go down in
Flames.
Oh, everybody knows the right answer
But this one is just so much easier to
Say.

And, that, loves, was “It‘d be Funny if It Wasn’t Happening to Me“ by Mobile Fallout Shelter. I know, awesome, isn’t? It’s one of my all-time favorite Human Shields’ songs. Mostly because it’s one of the very few ones with lyrics I actually understand, much less like. Of course, the fact that the melody is a super fun, romp-worthy, rock-out-loud, born chart-topper doesn’t hurt either. Seriously. It’s such a shame I can’t insert sound-bytes in here, because simply featuring the lyrics to “It’d be Funny if It Wasn’t Happening to Me’” really doesn’t even begin to do the song justice. Well, actually, that’s pretty much the case with almost all Mobile Fallout Shelter and Paranoia! Academy songs, though… (With the exception of “The Only Good Thing About Divorce is You Get to Sleep with Your Mother,” of course.)
But anyway.
I guess I better stop dawdling and get back to the story, right? Right.
So, in case you haven’t guessed by that little excerpt of the above-featured Wenterz-written awesomeness, I am listening to my MP3 player right now. And obviously the song I last listened to was the one featured above.
So here are the basic facts: It’s Thursday. It’s April 10th. It’s almost time for the school-bus to arrive. It’s a been a mere 14 hours since I broke the news of Danny’s death as gently as I could to Cassie, via e-mail. And it’s bloody blinding out here. (AH, THE SUN!!! IT BURNSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!)
Seriously. The weather’s been so screwed up lately. One day we practically have a typhoon, the next it’s like we’re living in some sort of inescapable, heat-stroke-inducing sauna or something. I mean, don’t get me wrong, this whole pre-Summer scene is nice to look at and all, what with all the golden sun-light and thriving plant life, but DEAR LAWRD! I haven’t sweated this much since my old gym teacher made me run 3 consecutive laps around the track in June. Or maybe that’s just because a certain sexy-as-God-knows-what Ali is standing a mere 10 feet away from me. (Of course, he’s purposely positioned himself at an angle so that I can barely so much as glance at his silhouette without frying my corneas, the crafty little bastard!)
Boys and girls, let me paint a picture for you: Chin-length light brown hair with bangs down to the lashes. The oh-so-dark, oh-so-voluptuous lashes. Semi-heart-shaped, semi-oval-shaped face with PERFECT flushed, vanilla skin. Wide, expressive-yet-enigmatic eyes that often alternate between brown and green, depending on the light. Strawberry-flavored lips on the canvas of a large mouth. Wide, athletic, not-curvy-but-not-quite-flat chest. Healthy and strong, but not so much so that he looks like he’s on steroids. Not too feminine. Not too masculine. JUST. BLOODY. ADORABLE.
Who is he, you ask? The skipped beat of my heart. The seizure in my step. The eye-candy I’m not allowed to taste. The reason I’m always glancing over my shoulder on the bus-ride to and from school. He, dear readers, is Dannyko Bennett. That Guy.
Now, let me add to this picture: Standing a few feet away from the afore-described sex muffin, who just sort of awkwardly hovers in the background, cowering in the sun-light from my infatuated gaze, is a group of about 4 more teenage boys casually and complacently conversing amongst themselves about God-knows-what. Most of them are juniors and seniors, but a couple of them (the most obnoxious ones) are freshmen and a few of them (the most condescending ones) are sophomores. However, the most obnoxious AND condescending one would probably be that junior over there, doing his impression of a pencil molesting a sneaker. (Or, at least, that’s what it looks like from where I’m sitting.) Yeah, see him? The really preppy-looking guy with the flat-ironed-straight black hair and the acne-infested, long, juvenile face contorted into a twisted grin of supreme evil? The one that, you don’t really know why, but you just sort of have this overwhelming urge to slap in the mouth? Well, that’s Jonah. Jonah Knolles. He’s pretty much the closest this sleepy, little suburb ever came to a “local hoodlum.” To be honest, 60% of the time, he’s not really evil. Just ungodly annoying. A minor irritation, I guess you could say. Usually, me and him pretty much never communicate. He stays out of my way, I stay out of his. Or, to be more accurate, he stays out of my way, I don’t stab him to death with my fluffy, neon pink pen. But lately, over the past few weeks, he’s been getting more and more vindictive. Towards me!
I mean, he’s always been sort of callous and immature, but for whatever reason, it seems as though lately he’s been targeting me. Really TRYING to step on my nerves. I know that sounds paranoid, but watch this: “HEY, BELINDA!!” he screams at me for the millionth time in the past 5 minutes. I’ve been ignoring him.
Half because it’s simply not worth turning my music off/down just to get bitched up by the little demon and half because I just can’t stand the sound of his whiny little moan of a voice. I figured if I just ignore him, he’d let it go and leave me alone.
But instead of giving up, he just seems to be getting all the more persistent. So I suppose I’ll have to deal with him after all.
“WHAT?!” I snap back, sounding just as irritated as Jordan, putting my Sansa on Pause.
“Do the Skittles dance!” he commands, in an oh-so-aggravatingly authoritive voice. The Skittles dance, for those of you who’ve been living under a rock, is basically the 21st century equivalent of the Thriller. And Skittles Stalker, this R&B-ish pop-star, is the equivalent of Michael Jackson. Only, you know, without the male-lolita fetish and the unnecessary skin surgery. Basically, a total prince of “da club” dance-floor. He came out with this painfully repetitive hit back in 2006 called “Rock You” and in the video, all were introduced to the infamous Skittles dance. It’s pretty simple. My friend Aquia taught it to me back in 9th grade.
After that, throughout my entire fresh-men year, for whatever reason, everybody found the fact that I could do one of the most pimpin’ dances around endlessly amusing. I suspect it had something to do with the fact that I was one of the whitest, most un-ghetto girls in the whole school. It was sort of like watching Emily Dickinson try to rap. But eventually they all got sick of it, as is the case with all trends, so I haven’t had to do it since the beginning of my sophomore year, when they played “Rock You” at Home-coming. But apparently Jonah’s in a rather nostalgic mood today, as now he’s demanding that I perform once more.
“What…?” I say, bewildered by his sudden urge to see my freshmen attempt at trying to appear gangsta.
“DO. THE. SKITTLES. DANCE!” he repeats, irritated by my stubbornness, but excited by the small chance that I might just obey.
“Why?” I ask, giving him an suspicious scowl.
“Just do it!”
“No!”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not your ---ing dancing monkey!”
“Well, duh! A monkey would‘ve done the damn dance at least 5 times by now.”
At this, his assembled group of cronies, in loyalty to their beloved evil ring-leader, began to chant: “DO. THE. DANCE! DO. THE. DANCE! DO. THE. DANCE! DO. THE. DANCE!” Although, I suspect none of them actually cared whether or not I did.
The only reason they were demanding it now was because Jonah wanted to see it.
Yeah, Jonah may be utterly repulsive, but you got to give the kid credit. He knows how to make friends. Hell, matter of fact, the kid‘s practically running an empire. A few more years and he’ll be an evil, world-dominating terrorist dictator. Seriously. I can see the authoritarian, mad-with-power military tactics already. As far as I know, he’s the beloved leader of at least several different cliques, if not more. Most of them are right here in the neighborhood. The rest of them are scattered all over the school. He’s gained so much power and credibility over the past few years that there are times when I have to wonder if he’s Julius Ceasar reincarnated. But then he goes and does something like what he‘s about to do to me, and I’m forced to consider him as more of a neo Hitler.
“Aww, see, Belinda?” gushed Jonah, in mock affection, as the chanting if his fan-club grew more demanding. “They love you! Now, you don’t want to disappoint your audience, do you?”
Glint. Glint. Glint. He was radiating so much condescending malice, even his pale, icy blue eyes were sneering at me. He might as well have been holding a loaded gun to my head, his prescience was so taunting. “Do it and I might just spare you,” I could practically hear him hiss.
But, being the stupid, pride-filled twit I was, I refused to be intimidated by him. So I just continued to scowl at him, unthreatened and unfazed, and said: “I’m not doing the damn dance. Now, piss off!” GASP. Oh, how dare I!
At my defiance, the out-raged teen dictator let his mask of gleeful malice evaporate, and opened up his mouth to give his shocked-into-silence followers the command to attack, but then stopped. He paused. He thought. He glanced at That Guy. He glanced back at me. He did this 2 more times. He sneered. I shuddered. I knew what that look meant: “Screw the lackeys. I’ll make you pay MYSELF.”
“Oh, I get it,” purred Hitler reincarnated, in such an ominous way that I couldn‘t help but feel a small pang of regret already. “You don’t want to dance in front of your little stud-muffin, do you?” And he gestured towards Dannyko. “You’re afraid you’ll screw up and look like a total retard in front of him. Aren‘t you. [No trace of question mark in his voice. It was more of a taunt than an inquiry.]”
At this, I couldn’t help but allow my rebellious facade to falter slightly. I didn’t like where this was going. But, nevertheless, I still tried to appear coolly immune to his wrath. No way in hell was I going to give him the satisfaction of tearing me down.
“Why, yes, Jonah,” I said, sarcastically. “I’m completely terrified that Dan might think I’m a psychotic freak and never talk to me again. But, oh, wait a minute, that’s right: He already does! Nevermind.”
And apparently either Jonah found the fact that I still thought I could escape his vengeance hysterically funny or he was just slightly drunk, because at that, he threw his vile little head back, cackled wickedly, and announced to anyone who liked him enough to pretend to care: “OHMAGYAD, SHE’S BLUSHING!!” Which was total bullshit. I hadn’t even so much as shivered.
But before I could say anything, he went back into attack mode and commenced pelting me with a merciless barrage of rhetorical questions that eventually mutated into vile, vile, puke-worthy accusations. “You still like him, don’t you?! You still LOVVVVVVVVVVE him, don’t you?! You still stalk him, don’t you?! You still stare at him when you think no one’s watching. You still follow him home. You still WANT him. You still fantasize about breaking into his house and forcing your way inside him. You still hang out with Cori just because she’s his older sister. You still bribe his little sister for info. Don’t you, don’t you, don’t you, don’t you, DON‘T YOU?”
No, I don’t, I don’t, I don’t, I don’t, I DON’T. But I actually was blushing by now, so I dared not contradict him, lest I just worsen the situation.

And where the hell was That Guy when all this was going on, you ask? Wasn’t he embarrassed by all this as well, you ask? Shouldn‘t he have had enough decency to feel sorry for me and intervene, you ask? Why didn’t he do anything, you ask? Shouldn’t he have stepped in and saved my ass from frying in the holocaust of Jordan-spawned humiliation at this point, you ask? Well, damn right he should’ve, I say. In fact, it kind of makes me wonder what he would’ve done if he’d been able to hear a single word of it above the roar of Guns ‘N’ Roses or Velvet Revolver or Jimi Hendrix that was blasting into his ear-drums at the time. Yeah, I wonder: would he have just stepped right up and told Jonah to shut the hell up? Probably not. Would he have just sheepishly chimed in every now and then with a “Aw, c’mon, dude, let it go” or a “Joe, just drop it, okay?” like the little clod he was? Possibly. Would he have ignored everything completely and cursed God for the fact that he hadn’t brought his I-pod to the bus-stop that day? Maybe. Would he have just watched, bemused, from the side-lines and chuckled every now and then at my torment? Probably. He ain’t no knight in shining armor. But I digress.
Too bad Jonah didn‘t. After he had run out of excruciatingly humiliating questions to volley at me, he cackled demonically and exclaimed, louder than he needed to: “OH, GYAD, THIS SHIT IS SO ----ING ROMANTIC, I’M ABOUT TO PUKE!”
And apparently, making me squirm in soundless agony looked so enjoyable, that Jonah’s henchman just had to join in the fun, because at this, a Jonahite freshmen named Brookes piped up. “Hey, Belinda: is Dan’s dick really as big as he says? Because he’s always bragging about it, but…”
“Oh, why do you ask?” I replied in a silken voice, with an evil half-smile. “Are you planning on having a bit of, um, ‘FUN’ with it, Brookey-boy…?” Hint, hint. Wink, wink.
And despite themselves, 2 sophomore Jonahite’s couldn’t help but snigger wickedly at this. Of course, they stopped instantly when their beloved leader shot them a “STOP LAUGHING AT THE ENEMY’S JOKES, YOU STUPID JACK-ASSES!!” glare. But by the time he turned his sapphire gaze back upon me, a mere nano-second later, every trace of that annoyance and anger had been drowned in a smirk-shaped mask of an unfazed, apathetic serenity. “Nah, Brookes, don’t even bother asking her questions like that, man. She’s never seen it,” he informed a hurt-looking Brookes, his eyes glittering malevolently at me the whole time. “After all, God forbid His immaculate little virgin should ever defile herself in such a way, right, Belinda?” Smirk. Chuckle. Bow.
And his admirers, in reply: Double smirk. Double chuckle. Applause. (Ohhhh, where, oh, where is a fluffy, neon pink pen when you need one?)
“But, guys, you should’ve seen it! It was --ing hilarious!” he informs his audience before I can recover from that last blow. “Hey, Belinda, remember back in 9th grade, when-?”
“No, I don’t remember back in 9th grade when. Now, don’t you have an anis to lick or something?”
No, Apparently he didn‘t. Evidently, he was too busy tormenting my ass to deal with anybody else‘s. Because at this, all he did was gasp fakely in disbelief and shout, with excessive volume: “YOU MEAN YOU DON’T REMEMBER HOW YOU USED TO COME DOWN HERE EVERY MORNING AND LOOK AT DAN WITH THAT STUPID, DREAMY-EYED GRIN ON YOUR FACE?! AND HOW YOU ALWAYS USED TO SIT BEHIND HIM ON THE BUS AND PLAY WITH HIS HAIR ALL THE WAY TO SCHOOL?!”
“Hey! I only did that ONCE!”
“Ohhh, so you DO remember!” Argh. Damn it.
But luckily, there is a God, because right as Jonah says this, the bus arrives and we all file unto it. Well, That Guy, Jonah, Brookes, and the 2 Jonahites do, anyway. I did more of a hurried, brusque half-run, half skulk. I nearly burst out in sobs of relieved solace when my scrawny rump FINALLY collided with the green, leather seat. Oh, sweet sanctuary! (… And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from Jonah. Amen.) But no, wait. The little miscreant’s not done with me yet.
Right as he comes within earshot of me, he casually says to That Guy, who was walking right in front of him: “And what about those love letters she always used to leave for you in your mail-box? Man, how awesome were those!” FREEZE. At that, Dan stopped cold, whipped around, and practically burned a hole into the little demons’ head with the betrayal and anger his currently shamrock-green gaze was radiating “Leammeouttathis!” he half-spat, half-hissed, with a quick “WHAT THE --- ARE YOU LOOKING AT?!” glance at a few bemused by-standers who were now admiring the potential scene. Now, wait. Back up.
Did that vile little Hell-spawn-who’s-name-I-can-no-longer-utter-without-gagging just mention THOSE LETTERS? THOSE LETTERS, that I wrote several eternities ago for That Guy? THOSE LETTERS, that were unspeakably embarrassing? THOSE LETTERS, that I would literally tear out my own spleen in suicide if anyone besides Dan, God, my therapist, and Cori ever found out about them? THOSE LETTERS?!?!!?! Jonah (gag) knew about THOSE LETTERS?!?!!?!!?!!!?!!?!!?! And That Guy told him about THOSE LETTERS???!!?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!!?!?!?
Oh, Dear God. Please. Kill me now. This was just too much.
“Wait,” I said to That Guy before he could resume his journey to the very back of the bus, where he usually sat. The look he gave me in return was so guilty and penitent, I knew the answer to the question before I even asked it. “You TOLD HIM?!”
“Um…. Well, I…. Uh….. Erm….” he stammered gracelessly, gluing his sheepish gaze uncomfortably to the floor. “TOLD me?!” piped up Jonah (gag). “Oh, hell no. Relax, Whoever, your li’l Dannyko didn‘t TELL me about the notes...” LURCH.
At the mention of my old alias and That Guy’s old nick-name, my insides flip-flopped. My vision blurred. My sweat glands imploded. Jonah’s (gag) sneering mouth curled around those 2 flash-back-from-hell names in the way a psychotic, vengeful anti-hero’s fingers would mockingly play with the non-sharp edges of a broken glass right before he hacked and slashed his victims to bloody, grotesque mounds of flesh, blood, bones, guts, and whatever else they were made of. He was going to twist the corkscrew of tension into my already-paranoid stab-wound of a mind until I BEGGED for him to finish me off. And if That Guy happened to go down with me, well, who cared? I was the target. Everyone else that he hit was just collectoral damage.
“…He SHOWED me the notes,” informed high-school Hitler, before adding: “Matter of fact, I think I have one with me right now.” But anyone could tell he didn’t just THINK, he KNEW he had one, because he started digging for it in his pocket long before he pronounced that last sentence. In fact, he extracted the wretched little thing right as he was saying it.
But before me or That Guy could snatch it away, we were rudely interrupted by a very impatient bus-driver: “HEY, YOU 2 BACK THERE!!!!! SIT DOWN!!!!” Thus, Jonah (gag) managed to escape with the ultimate weapon of social homicide, That Guy managed to escape my complete, unadulterated, vengeful “I CAN’T ---ING BELIEVIE YOU ---ING GAVE HIM A ---ING NOTE!!!” wrath, and I managed to escape with….. Well, actually I’ll have to get back to you on that one. The point is, we were all scattered to different ends of the bus: Dan was cowering in the back, I was seething in the front, and Jonah (gag) was soundlessly gloating in the middle. Soundlessly, of course, until, 5 minutes later, he pronounced to anyone who cared: “Hey, guys, listen to this…!” And thus the missiles were launched. The “this” was of course the note he had extracted from his pocket a mere 5 minutes earlier. And sure enough, he then began to read the horrid thing out-loud. (MUST.RESIST. URGE. TO. KILL!) So one horribly humiliating sentence later, I was graciously trapped in a fortress of ear-shattering, MP3Player-induced noise/music that didn’t allow a single audible trace of reality to enter. Thanks to the wonder of portable music players, for the remainder of the bus-ride, I was impenetrable. And since hardly anyone who rides my bus is any of my classes, I didn’t have to hear about it at all for the rest of the day until lunch-time. But I was still nauseas with dread. Seriously. I gave a whole new depth of meaning to the word “over-reaction.” In fact, during Geometry, in which I’ve got yet ANOTHER guy named Dan in my class, I developed a nervous tick, which was especially spastic whenever said Dan was called on. In retrospect, though, I really have no idea why I panicked. In actuality, it hadn’t been worth a single drop of my sweat. Me and That Guy were old news by then. 2 and a half years old, in fact. So by that time, no one really cared. And for good reason. After all, not only was the story unbearably out-dated, it was exceedingly dull. I mean, “girl likes boy, boy doesn’t like girl, so girl commits social suicide chasing after boy”? Come on, that had to be the least gossip-worthy so-called “scandal” in the whole history of Baltimore County Public Schools.
The only reason I hadn’t realized that fact yet was because I was the only one who still couldn’t let it go. I was still very much infatuated with That Guy, and to that day I still always left school with that sickeningly empty, inconsolable feeling in the pit of my stomach. The feeling spawned by the knowledge that That Guy would NEVER love me; that I would NEVER get over him; that I would be hopelessly stuck stalking his shadow to the ends of the earth FOREVER. It had been almost 3 years since I had first met him and he still all-too-capable of doing this to me. It was hopeless, I thought. I was a captive obsessive and That Guy was a captive obsession. And, whether anybody cared or not, I couldn’t bare to let anybody know that nothing had changed. That I was still just as pathetic and forlorn and obsessed as I was back in 9th grade. That I would, I thought, ALWAYS be just as pathetic and forlorn and obsessed as I was back in 9th grade. So when Jonah (gag) displayed an excerpt of my immortal addiction for all to see that day, I broke down inside. For the rest of the day, I felt (and acted) like I was made of glass. Paranoid, distracted glass who had evidently forgotten to take it’s medication. I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t talk, I could barely function. Yeah. It would’ve been hilarious if it hadn’t been happening to me.

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Wednesday, March 5, 2008

Shmeeeeeeeeee-ness
I.... Am.... So....Damn.... Tired.''-__-
Still at school. Had to stay after to work on a project. I finished it, but the stupid thing wouldn't print. AND, as if this didn't put me in precarious enough situation, my partner for a HUGE American Gov't project's computer crapped out, and we needed it to do said HUGE American Gov't assignment, so I'm pretty much screwed. In 2 subjects. Well, actually 3, because I'm probably failing gym now too.''-__- (Only because the stupid teacher lost my homework, which I turned in early, and then forgot about it.)
So, in conclusion: Screw school. Screw printers. Screw gym teachers. And screw the whole damn world. The end.
Well, not really. No, I have much more things to bitch about than that.
And even if I didn't I'm sure I could make something up. Soooooo... Let's see:
That Bitch doesn't love me. I don't love me. Hayley (That Bitches's sister) doesn't love me. This printer doesn't love me. I'm feeling (and acting) like a pretentious bitch because I'm SO. DAMN. TIRED. There are God-knows-how-many-months-of-school-left. I gotta pee. The bathrooms are locked. Um... Did I mention That Bitch doesn't love me? I can't go to Otakon. I feel (or don't feel, rather) like a zombie. That Bitch is fucking gorgrous. That Bitch still doesn't love me... and he's not even shirtless either! (Sorry. Random perverted string of thoughts.) So... I guess I'll go home and cry myself to sleep now. Au revoir.
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Friday, February 29, 2008

This ain't a mutiny, it's a gawddamn travesty
I CAN'T FUCKING TAKE IT ANYMORE!!!!!!!!
I know I've been saying this forever and I know you're all sick of hearing about it, but trust me, none of you are as tired of it as I am.
(WARNING: The rambling shall now commence.)
I don't know him, but, Dear GOD, I WANT to know him. I want to be able to talk to him and laugh with him and be his friend, and I am SO, SO, so, so, sooooooooo damn sick of being stalker, his observer, his infatuated little audience member. I swear. I'm about to burst. All I ever do is sneak oh-so-tantalizingly compressed stares at him in between time intervals that are only about 10 seconds, but feel like 10 hours, in length. Honest to God. I would literally donate a kidney to Satin just to be able to keep following him home in secret.
And, yeah, fine, I admit: it's not really him, it's his face and his hair and his body and his ass that I'm in love with; so, yeah, I'm a horribly shallow, un-deep, superficial, stereo-typical little fan-girl of a whore. There. Happy? I admit it. I know next to nothing about him and therefore have no right whatsoever to say I love him, but I swear, if I have to go through one more week of this drawn-out, endless, pointlessly agonizing highschool romance bullshit, life is simply no longer worth living. I'm going bloody insane to the bloodiest degree.
Every time I hear his name on the bus or in the bible--because, you know, he does have a biblical name--my ears always perk up in anticipation or I always pounce right on the chapter/verse where I saw it, and always look for any sign at all of what it might say of what Danny thinks of me or what he's going tomorrow or what he had for breakfast this morning. And then, when I discover it tells nothing of the sort, I'm always left to stare in bewilderment, wondering "Well, what does THAT have to do with anything?" even though I had known perfectly well from the beginning that it never pertained to anything That Bitch-related in the first place.
And then whenever his little sister comes over to play with my little siblings, I always internally mutate into such a heartless user, always warming up to her and asking her how she's been even though I couldn't care less, just on the off chance that she'll let slip something about her oh-so-charming older brother. "The only reason I love you is because I love him." I know. It's disgusting. I hate myself for doing it. But not as much as I hate myself for enjoying it. (The information, I mean, not the insincerity.)

I can't stand it. I don't even know what it is anymore. I thought it was just a crush, but it lasted way too long and it feels way too intense. Then I said it was love, but I don't even know the guy. I don't know...
All I can say now is: I may be shallow and this whatever-the-hell-it-is may be superficial, but that doesn't change how deeply I feel it...

Anyway. I'm probably going to read all that later and smack myself for being so damn banal and melodramatic, so I'm just going to end this post now, before I embarrass myself anymore. Okay? Okay.
~[{Shadowme}]~
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Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Creating a Jon Walker theme for march. It's just my contribution to this fangirl-tastic tribute me, Cassie, Jenny, and Krissy are doing to Panic!. Anyway, I need help picking the background for the theme. So, here are the candidates. Please vote. Thanks.^^

Yeah, I know:WAAAAAAAAY too tiny.



PANGUINS!!!
Okay... I ain't got nothing to write about, so... MORE PICTURES!



And just to make sure ALL of you are good and traumatized, here's a video:

XDDDDDDDDDD
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Sunday, February 24, 2008

HAYLEY

E2: The Everything Test 2

There are many different types of tests on the internet today. Personality tests, purity tests, stereotype tests, political tests. But now, there is one test to rule them all.

Traditionally, online tests would ask certain questions about your musical tastes or clothing for a stereotype, your experiences for a purity test, or deep questions for a personality test.We're turning that upside down - all the questions affect all the results, and we've got some innovative results too!
Version 2 is leaner, meaner, and features a more mature and varied set of questions than the previous test. Enjoy!

Character Traits Analytical 0% Artistic 35% Driven 0% Emotional 100% Horny 57% Independent 50% Musical 36% Optimistic 0% Outgoing 0% Political 11% Religious 82% Romantic 100% Social 0%

Life Experience Criminality 0% Intellectual 13% Relationships 7% Sexuality 19% Travel 7%

Politics Your political views would best be described as Con, while philosophically you tend to think like a Liberal.

Socioeconomic Your attitude toward life best associates you with Working Class. You make more than 0% of those who have taken this test, and 100% less than the U.S. average.

You tend to think more like an artist than an engineer.

Location-wise, you would probably be a good fit for the City.

TAKE THE TEST
brought to you by thatsurveysite

Yeah. Longest quiz ever. Proof that I have no life. I don't care, though: life is for poor people! It was a good quiz though. I DEMAND THAT YOU ALL TAKE IT!!! Oyyyy... I'm bored. Should probably be going to church soon. Haven't gone yet today. I have a poem to for y'all to whore. It's called Hayley.... And it's about a chick named Hayley. (NI SHIT!) Anyway, here ya go:

My little spy, my little advocate, singing: "You always were my favorite."
I'll tell you everything, but you don't have to understand.
Just comply with my demands.
Making his reality my dreams.
Always stuck between wanting to be with him and wanting to be him.
And, is that you grew up too fast, or is it just the fact that I'm still just a kid?
Caught between all the "you weren't supposed to know that yet" and "we weren't supposed to have done that yet."
Well, kid, what can I say?
It's just easier this way.
And, yeah, I know what I'm doing:
it's all just a matter of who I'm using.
The only reason I love you is because I love him.
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Saturday, February 23, 2008

THE CATALYST, CHAPT 18: SANCTUARY
Hey. The following week passed without much event. It mostly consisted of: go to school, get hassled. Go home, get hassled. Go online, get hassled.
Yeah. All your stereo-typical teen angst bullshit. Same old, same old.
Only, now I didn’t have Cori--or any of my other friends that were taken by the attack--to rant to. I was forced to go back to spilling my guts to my diary, myself, and anyone else who cared enough to listen. I suppose I could’ve tried to branch out and make new friends to hang with, but at the time, I was still suffering from a severe case of “just dumped“ syndrome. I just wasn’t in the mood to socialize. Wasn’t in the mood to look for Cori’s “replacement” yet. After all, it was hard enough just to force myself out of the comfortable, oh-so-secure confines of my room every morning. At one point I contemplated not even getting out of bed anymore. Almost all of my friends at school had either died in the attack on Monday, been so traumatized by all the violence that they went institutional, or been transferred by concerned parents. Everyone was disappearing.
I had hit rock bottom and I wasn’t sure if it was even worth picking myself back up just to be weighed back down again. During those times, I would stare across the room into the golden crucifix nailed to my wall and think: “Yeah, I know You have Your reasons. I just haven’t the slightest idea of what they could be.” And in reply, from somewhere in my mind, would come the vivid memory of the Bible study course I took a few years ago. They were mostly a series of DVD’s hosted by a rather charismatic, loud and proud “Bible geek” named Mark Hart. He was always going on about how you couldn’t just half-heartedly tolerate/follow/obey God 50%. You couldn’t just pick and choose. No, you had to follow Him COMPLETELY. You had to become one with Him. You had to serve Him. You had to love Him. But above all, you had to trust Him.
In fact, Mark‘s exact words had been: “One of the most powerful prayers you can ever pray is: ‘Lord, I do not understand You. But I trust You.’” And that‘s it. No matter what religion you are-be it Hindu, Buddhist, Jehovah Witness, Mormon, whatever-there‘s always that question of weather or not you really, completely trust whichever deity you‘re worshipping. In every conflict, every adversity you will ever encounter in life, God’s always to be asking you that one crucial question: “Do you trust Me?”
So in those wee hours of the morning with my alarm blaring at me somewhere in the oh-so-bleak back-round to get up and face the gray, sunless, harsh, fluorescent world AGAIN, that’s what I heard. And the following is the best metaphor I can use to describe how I felt:
Jesus would just sort of appear out of nowhere, nimbly climb the letter to my loft-bed, and plop down next to me, so we were laying shoulder-to-shoulder in the limited space of my cluttered bed. He already knew I wasn’t in the mood for a lecture, so He didn’t bother going the whole stern, Old Testament-style, kick-in-the-pants, “STOP SNIVELING AND GET YOUR ASS OUT OF BED!!!” route. No, instead, He would wrap His arm around my shoulders, and cuddle me close, and gently murmur: “Hey, hon, how ya doing?” even though He already knew perfectly well how I was doing.
In response, I would feign a weak smile, soak in the loving warmth and protection of being in His arms, and say: “Not so good.” I didn’t have to elaborate. He obviously already knew the details.
“Yeah, darling, I know,” He’d say with a knowing nod and an empathetic pat on my shoulder. “But you’ve got to get up.”
“Whyyyyyyyy?” I’d moan, throwing my arms around Him and clinging to His chest in a gesture that screamed “PLEASE just kill me now so I can spend the rest of eternity with You and be done with it.” Alas.
No such luck.
He‘d sigh, exasperated. He’d gently place his fore-finger on my chin. He’d gingerly tilt my head upwards so I was staring straight into His all-honest eyes. And, He‘d say: “Belinda, why would I let this happen and then tell you to get up and face it if it wasn’t for your own good? Don’t you trust Me?” See? There it is: the infamous “do you trust Me?”
“Of course! I love You!” And I would shoot up into a more upright position, so my gaze would be more level with His. He wasn‘t the only one here with total conviction. No way in Hell was He going to guilt me into feeling like the “obligated, but apathetic” disciple this time. No, I knew by now this was much more than just another tradition my parents had engraved into me. A hell of a lot more. I wouldn’t be the one asleep in Gethsemane when He‘d be off throwing himself into the convulsions of the agony in the garden. No. I’d be there until the very, very end.
And He knew that.
“I know. I know you love Me,” He’d murmur, keeping His gaze locked on mine, as He‘d sensually rise from my pillow and crawl towards me until He was but a few measly centimeters [and a couple even more measly seconds] away from being on top of me. “But do you TRUST Me…?” Blush. His hot breath on my face. Grasp. His hand in mine. Stroke. His fingers through my hair. Kiss. His lips on my skin. OHHHHHHHHHH, HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLL YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS.
In response to the whole periodically inquired-after trust issue, I shoved my tongue down His throat, kept it there for a solid minute, simultaneously dragged Him down on top of me, placed one of His hands around my throat, the other unto the skin covering my heart, and finally pushed Him back far enough so He could witness the scene I had just created. The vile, potentially violent, ultra suggestive, illegal-looking scene I had just created.
Any other entity (especially if it was a human entity) would’ve stared down at me, bewildered and slightly horrified, at what I had done, what I had made our formally romantic moment appear to be. Matter of fact, I’m sure you don’t understand either. You think I’m just trying to be controversial, don’t you? You think I’m just trying to be provocative by having an imaginary potential sadist/masochist scene with Jesus. You think I’m simply trying to step on some puritan traditionalist nerves. Right?
Well, You‘re wrong. I’m not. And He knew that.
I could tell by the way His solemn ever-enigmatic gaze traced over the suggestive, semi-carnal, semi-murderous position I’d placed His hands in that He knew EXACTLY where I was going with this.
However, if He had asked for an explanation, I had one sort of pre-prepared. (“You want to choke me to death? I’ve already saved You the trouble of putting Your fist around my throat. You want to break my heart? It’s already in Your hand to shatter. And finally, You want to crush me? Darling, I‘ve already pulled You on top of me.”)
Of course, Him being God the Son and all, I didn’t actually have to say any of this out-loud. So I didn’t. He already knew what it meant. But, just for emphasis‘s sake, I told Him: “Love me. Hate me. Choke me. Break me. Do whatever You want with Me. I don’t care.” Grasp. Me tightening His grip on my neck with my own hand. “I. AM. YOURS….. I’ll ALWAYS be Yours.” Pause. Dot, dot, dot. He just continues to bore deep into my eyes for a few more seconds, processing what I just said and wondering if I have enough conviction to back it up. Ellipsis. Ellipsis. Ellipsis.
Finally, He shatters the all-too-tense atmosphere by giving me a loving smile and a knowing chuckle, as He takes His one hand off my throat and His other off of my breast. “You always were a cynical li’l artist,” He said in a mock-critical tone on behalf of my trade-mark melo-drama. “But, sorry, honey, you ain’t getting to stay home from school THAT easy.”
Awwwwwwww! This called for the ultimate, puppy-eyed, desperate, most irresistible look of beseeching-ness ever. TAKE THIS, O ALL-KNOWING ONE!!! FEEL MY ADORABLE WRATH OF SUPREME CUTE-NESS!!!!
Frown. Frown. Moan. Frown. Beg. Puppy eyes. Beg. Frown.
But in the end, all I got was another loving embrace, a promise that it was “only for a little while longer, babe,” one more “good-luck” kiss on the fore-head, and one last sincere-as-can-be “I love you.” And then He’d be gone. Well, no, not gone. Not PHYSICALLY gone, anyway. He was still there. I just couldn’t sense His prescience anymore. Technically, He had never actually appeared to me in the first place. These little occurrences were nothing miraculous. I’m no Joan of Ark. I never will be.
For the most part, I was just using my imagination, trying to picture what God would be like if I really could see and hear and feel Him. It was mostly theoretical. I suppose in some ways it had to be, because, you know, nobody actually knows what God looks like. And I know most of you are probably disgusted, because God is traditionally considered more of a father figure. But when it comes to Jesus, I think of Him as more of a Boy-friend. A much older Boy-friend, but a Boy-friend, nonetheless. I don’t know. I’m just able to get into it more when I think of Him like that. It’s simply easier to pray that way.
But I think that’s enough semi-controversial religious theory for one chapter.
_______________________________________________________________________
Title: I’m not dead yet!
Post: Hey, guys.
Sorry about the century-long hiatus. I was kidnapped by leprechauns and drag queens. (True story.) Anyway, school’s been killing me. It’s so damn brutal, it’s not even funny. We’ve got the H.S.A. (High-school Student Assessment) coming up in May, and since everybody needs to pass it in order to graduate, the teachers’ been forcing reviews down our throats like mad. I swear to God, I’m about to have a total melt-down. I’ve got, like, 10 ----ing assignments due tomorrow. Oy… I hate 11th grade.
Oh, and also, Cori--who is still missing--hates me now. Yeah. Meg was transferred, Aquia was shot, Danny was killed, Stacie was practically traumatized into insanity, and now Cori’s gone. Fun.
Fun.
Fun.
I’m just having the best gawddamn week ever. Can you tell?
~Shadow the me~
Date: April 9th, 2009
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Friday, February 22, 2008

THATCHED ROOF COTTAGES, BIOTCHZZZZZZZZZZZ!!
Homestarrunner.com
Robert: I SAY HI!
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