The Little Journal That Could

At least he's cute.

Tue, 24 Nov 2009 08:47:34 GMT

The he, of course, being a cop. A cop who showed up at my house around two-thirty in the morning along with his female partner to ask about the condition of my mother, who may or may not have taken a little too much sleeping medication or one too many painkillers and, according to an overheard conversation between the cops and my dad, could not be roused from her sleep for a while.

Yeah. I don't use this acronym often, and I am extremely grateful that she woke up and is now fine, but really? FML. Let's write one: Today, I came home for Thanksgiving weekend. To kick it off, my mom's accidental drug stupor summons the cops to my house in the middle of the night. FML.

And I'm not numb to it; accustomed, yeah, but not numb. I don't hate her. I'm disappointed. It hurts to see her like this. I go outside, because I heard unfamiliar voices, and I try to mouth to my mother, What's going on? She stares blankly at me and doesn't respond.

You know my mom's one of the reasons why I don't think I'd be a good mother? Or have my own kids in general? Which sucks; I'm a girl and I like babies. They're smiley and pudgy and they unfailingly kick my maternal instincts into gear, hard. I won't ever tell anyone I like babies, but I do. I want them. But I'd rather not turn into my own mom, with the dependence on painkillers (you should see my relationship with Advil LiquiGels) and family scares and defensiveness and a host of other personality horrors I may very well have. And don't want to hurt a kid with. Ever. God, ever.

So she just came in to talk to me, and she said she forgot she'd already taken a dose of whatever she takes a dose of. A mistake.

It could've been a lethal one. I'm not up to losing my mom.

I can't truly forgive her right now. I said the words, but with no real meaning behind them. At least I was the only one who saw it. Really, if either of my sisters had been awake for that, and she'd made them really upset, then I'd really not want to forgive her.

I suppose I'm looking for someone to blame when, with mistakes, there's no one. So it's frustrating.

The cop was cute though. I don't know if it was because of the uniform, or because I just got home from a college with college-looking eighteen- to twenty-something-year-olds who aren't really developed men and are all skinny and small or douchebaggy and frankly, mediocre, and the cop was an actual adult male, but. Nice guy, too.

Yeah, that's one of the sucky things about college. I like men. Not teenagers. Men. Who are taller than me and have muscle tone and more than a little butch. Turns my crank so fucking hard. College has teenagers. I can hold out fine, I don't mind, but it's a little depressing. No real men, not many queer women, although there's this one girl who was the hair and makeup artist for Rocky Horror, and she's actually bisexual, but not single--I think she has a boyfriend. She's cute though, and she's a makeup aficionado! Like me! This makes me incredibly happy.

Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart--this song. "Howl" by Florence + The Machine. It was on a Sam/Dean mix that I didn't download, except J linked me to a Little Boots song the other day and I looked her up and Wikipedia said she was like Florence + The Machine and I said hey, wasn't that on that mix? and I downloaded it and hey, it reminds me of Sam and Dean, what a coincidence. And I can't. wait. for Sam, Interrupted, because a) they replaced "Girl" with "Sam" and that is what I have been saying all this time and b) two words: "dangerously codependent." I love it. Also, Uncle Rico from Napoleon Dynamite is playing the deranged hunter!

Yeah, the hellatus needs to end. And, I don't know, my life needs to not scare me like this.

I am as vain as I allow.

Mon, 16 Nov 2009 04:13:04 GMT

The Fame Monster leaked today. Finally. Oh God, I love it so much. I've liked Lady Gaga since Perez started shilling her out as this new up-and-comer, though I will admit I still don't understand her teacup phase. Really don't. And now she has new music out, and The Fame Monster is so good. Every song could be a single, and every song (well, maybe not "Telephone," but it's so catchy it doesn't have to be ~meaningful~) seems to have something more to say.

Like "So Happy I Could Die." From the lyrics alone I knew I'd love it--I love that lavender blonde, the way she moves, the way she walks, I touch myself, can't get enough.

Okay, maybe my fantasies don't go down that route--really, it's all Winchester all the time. But the feeling remains.

I've been reading old journal entries about Ariane. They kind of hurt. What's more is, I want that friendship back. I was so happy I could die, and don't you just love that phrase? How you can interpret it? So happy, and you could die.

I might have gotten hit on yesterday. I went to Hunan Wok, and there was this thirtysomething guy in there. I don't know if he was drunk or just. You know. Cuckoo. But he turns and looks at me and he sort of does this step back and he says,

"I'm sorry, I just--I just can't take your beauty."

What beauty.

No, I take that back.

I flip-flop on my personal appearance, in case you couldn't tell. On one level, I can acknowledge that I know how to make myself look good. Makeup skills, for one thing, and my mom was a model and I suppose that my dad must not be bad either, because I don't have that bad a facial structure (just a freakish nose, but that's workable). I am as vain as I allow, truly.

But I've seen myself look so ugly. And I've been ignored in favor of the more charismatic and beautiful. So even though I've learned these skills, and am still learning, the old scars remain.

I had done myself up a little that day, all MAC here: Ricepaper and Satin Taupe eyeshadow, Rapidblack gel liner, Tenderling blush, Viva Glam VI lipstick. L'Oreal Bare Minerals foundation and Voluminous mascara. That's it. For me, that's rather standard. It works, it makes me look pretty. So I do it.

I say it's because I want to look good for myself, but there's another underlying reason. People are nicer to pretty people. And I want people to be nice to me. So I have to make myself pretty, and act kindly, and then people will be nice to me.

It's a little sad, isn't it, but I want that.

And this guy at the Hunan Wok, waiting for his Chinese food to be made same as I, he said my eyes were so beautiful. This is not the first time I've had someone say I had pretty eyes. Makes me wonder if sometime in the future, I'll have them gouged out, to make up for the compliments. And the guy talks to me, and yes I'm unnerved, very much so, but we're in public and I have a Swiss Army knife in my pocket, so I'm a little good.

As he's leaving, he turns to me and says, "Hey, cutie-pie." I look up. "You're blessed."

We'd just been sort of discussing my sweatshirt, which my dad got me in Ireland at Trinity College in Dublin. He remarked that it was a Christian college, so maybe that prompted the comment.

But he's the second person who's said I was blessed. Another stranger did too, and he said my eyes were pretty as well.

Sometimes I wonder.

Other: uuuugh Jensen and Jared. Just. I can still read J2 fic just fine, but. x.x Cute that they want kids, though, and is it just me or was there much less reporting going on from the con? Seems that way.

Oh well, I read more Sam/Dean anyway.

So happy I could die... and it's all right...

I'm procrastinating writing a paper on The Crucible.

Wed, 04 Nov 2009 08:33:29 GMT

To be more specific, writing a paper thoroughly discussing one of Aristotle's six elements of drama as outlined in his Poetics (I'm choosing Plot. I like Plot) and how it relates to one of several listed plays. I'm only very familiar with The Crucible (thank you, Gryzbo!), but there were a few other names I recognized: Equus, Driving Miss Daisy, The Glass Menagerie. Wit I saw the Emma Thompson movie version, that's on here too, and so is Doubt, and I don't know if it's the same as the Meryl Streep movie. There's A Raisin in the Sun too, but I already have an idea for The Crucible: discuss how Arthur Miller meant it to be a reflection of the Communist "witch hunts" going on in his time. Four to five pages, typed, double-spaced. I need two hard copies, except the library's closed because it's Election Day here in New Jersey, So I have to improvise. I can, probably, but. Egh.

I would have gone earlier today, except I had a full-day work call for Stagecraft. Six are required in a semester, and today's counted for three work calls, so I only need three more. And, since I don't think I can move my advisor's appointment from Thursday morning to tomorrow, I may end up going to tomorrow night's as well. But I'm going home after my appointment. Finally, ugh, I haven't gone home in a few weeks and I miss my doggies.

But the work call was quite fun. We set up the lights for our Theatre Department's first play, an original called The Last Days of Dr. Jekyll. From what I've seen of it, it's pretty good; Andrew, the guy playing Dr. Henry Jekyll is a good actor and actually, he and Jody, who's playing the CEO, rather randomly talked to me during my audition for Dog Sees God. They said they were very awesome. It can be offputting for some, but I could tell they weren't being arrogant and serious, just fucking around with a freshman, so I let it go. But we set up lights today, and I happen to really like the people in my theatre classes, namely Intro. and Stagecraft. Also Colloquium, but that's for all the Theatre majors, so.

I went to lunch with Katie today! Different Katie now, btw. And that was actually just relaxed and pleasant and I didn't feel very awkward or out-of-place. Maybe I'm just growing up. Or maybe I do get along with some people better than others. She's a junior, a Theatre major on the Dance track, and another Taurus, so we're both incredibly stubborn--I professed today that "Danke" was Japanese and "Arigatou" was German, and I kept firmly insisting that I was right, and she firmly insisted right back that I was not. That type of stubbornness. And I taped things with Michelet, who I really hope is at least bicurious because she's femme-looking but butch-acting (she knows a little bit of carpentry, likes sports, but she's an Art major and very slight and pretty), and even if she's not she's a very very sweet person. And they're not the only two people in my class, there's a whole bunch of others--Dede, Jamilah, Tim, Devon, Claire, two Brittanys, others. And they're nice people. Good people. I have fun.

I do miss home, though. OH, and my sister has swine flu. Yeah. :-\ And I'm pretty positive that I have bronchitis. Fun fun fun.

I did beat Pandemic II today though. Started in Madagascar. The Croatoan virus destroyed the world. It is 3:30 AM, and I am off to take a shower and finally sleep.

I'm happy.

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 04:00:37 GMT

I'm happy, I'm elated, I'm giddy.

I was in a shadowcast of the esteemed Rocky Horror Picture Show. And I'm so fucking happy. It really was one of the best nights of my entire life.

We had four rehearsals and two movie viewings. Two movie viewings where we hung out and really got to enjoy the movie, and four wild, fun rehearsals where details were hashed out very damn well. Almost all of the cast were fans; only one person hadn't seen the entire film. Everyone (well, maybe not Eddie, he's kind of a creeper) got along so damn well with one another. The thing was, we loved doing this. We put on the show because we wanted to and because we were passionate about it. And it really, really showed.

So cast and crew had to get to the ballroom at seven; the movie went on around nine. And we're all so hectic at this point, putting the finishing touches on makeup (and we had some good makeup design, too, and our costumes were great considering we were on a very tight budget that came out of our pockets), myself and the other three strippers figuring out how we're gonna go on, what tranny scenes do we do (we danced a little for Sword of Damocles, but that was it), and we're making sure all the props are stationed off-stage but within reach, running around, fixing our costumes, everything. It's amazing. I loved that so much. I've never actually been in a production of anything before, Rocky Horror was my theatre-devirginization, but actually getting to experience the craziness that comes before a show is magical.

And then the show. We had a lot of RHPS virgins show up, so we made them do the Time Warp. We were pressed for time. If we do another one we might come up with another devirginization activity; I vote something with Silly String. There was this one guy, though, and everyone in the show thought he was great--he knew all of the call-outs and was good at them, so we were extremely happy he showed up, whoever he was. We had a good turnout too--we had pretty much no advertising outside of word-of-mouth and a Facebook event, and we had people fill all of the seats (I'd say around fifty? seventy?) and then line up against the wall. Not bad, for something as cult as us with little advertising and Mischief Night parties taking up lots of people's time. Not bad at all.

But the show was good. We knew our parts. We stripped properly, sexily and well. The major cast knew their blocking and what lines to mouth and the lyrics to the songs and how to play their character well. Everything was in readiness and everything fucking rocked.

I hope we get to do it again. I'd love to. The rest of the cast would love to. I think our director, Peter, is trying to set something up again for next month or maybe by the end of the semester. And I think we might have a cast party sometime next week.

Oh my God. I was in a shadowcast of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED.

Iiiiiiiiinteresting.

Mon, 26 Oct 2009 19:33:49 GMT

So I finally posted Small Town America, right, and you should go read it, only this time I added a page counter, set to track unique users instead of how many times the page is refreshed. And while it's only been up about three hours, I have: 106 hits on Part 1, 48 hits on Part 2, and zero comments on either.

I added the counter in on a risk. Counters, I believe, tend to put people off of commenting at all. That and I know some people just don't like to comment; either the story's not substantial enough to leave more than a mere, "I liked this! gr8 write moar!" or reviews, when done well, can be a little exhaustive on their own, or some other reason. I did debate not adding in a counter, just to see if people would comment, but there's also another train of evidence I've been studying.

Apparently, comments drop off after the first posted fic. In Keds and Tube Socks hit sixty-three comments, And Now For Something Completely Different broke thirty, A Dancing Demon (Eh, Something Isn't Right There) only about twenty. So they've been dropping off. I think that's due to the lack of mystery that a "new" author brings; you can gauge how well you think that author writes if you've read her stuff already, and if you want to follow her work or not. This is why authors with fanbases can regularly get a decent amount of feedback on their work. What I should attempt to do is cultivate a fanbase, but that requires a) quality work (which needs to be written, too many ideas and not enough output), b) I'm tempted to say frequency, but not always, although it can help, and c) a flist that reads your work. C I may do without. There's a reason why I made a community for my fic and don't just post it here.

I think every author really does want to see people comment on her work. It's a nice reward to the effort put in. Nevertheless, I'm not too miffed if STA doesn't get any written feedback; one, I think I really overdid the description (and this was written back in March--my, how writing styles evolve, and so very quickly!) and got a little too lost with details. Still like the story. And I don't know if J2 is a bigger ship than Sam/Dean; it might be, so that could be a factor. Either way, if STA doesn't get a boatload of comments, that's okay, because it's not exactly recent, so it doesn't really reflect on my mindset and self as of now, so I won't be too displeased. That shouldn't discourage any would-be commenters, mind you, I'm just not going to cry in a corner if I get absolutely nothing. ... I might frown, though.

It was a nice enough experiment, and if STA does get comments and I try this again on other fic, I might be able to work out a decent comment-to-page-view ratio. Whihc, fun! Ratios!

I need to do math homework. x.x

:-P

Sun, 25 Oct 2009 04:23:18 GMT

So I'm about 90% sure "Eddie" likes me. Evidence includes: him hugging me at last practice; him, while singing "Hot Patootie, Bless My Soul" during practice, coming up to me and singing part of the song at me; him in general making comments like, "So, we're Facebook friends now" and "I like your lips. They're red. It means you like to be yourself," or something equally Why-The-Face-ish.

That last comment is a reminder to you guys to watch Modern Family. It's funny and very enjoyable.

But yeah. It probably sounds like less here, but I'm observant enough to notice when someone likes someone else. So, likery. Probably on his side happening. Not on mine. And I get to parade around in a slinky black bustiere, thigh-high fishnets and heels, and I have the sluttier moves in the beginning stripper scene where I and three other ladies sing "Science Fiction, Double Feature," and I don't exactly mind, I volunteered for one of them (me on the floor, legs spread, gently pointing in one direction, then the other--HOO-HA ON FULL DISPLAY, THE GATES TO THE PROMISED LAND VEILED WITH A MERE BLACK CLOTH), but. Um. Yeah.

Oh, and the makeup? French whore. I tried to do burlesque makeup last night, and I ended up with French whore. I need to find a finishing powder to make my skin flawless. Also, I need to learn how to use eyebrow liner better.

So I'll have to dress as a French whore, strut around onstage, strip (off comes a robe, then a little satin nightslip), and undulate. And "Eddie" could watch, as he is a castmember. Aaaaand did I mention bustiere? Did I also mention 36Cs that are prominently displayed by said bustiere? No? Oh, well then there's that.

Patrick's going to be there too, he's Frank n' Furter. So he gets to see too. x.x

I should IM Heather and ask her her plans for the night; I'm betting she won't be let out, but I really want her to show up.

SPEAKING OF RELATED THINGS, GUESS WHO TOLD GINA SHE WAS BISEXUAL AND REALLY CAN'T SHUT HER MOUTH ON THESE MATTERS?

*raises hand*

Look. About the telling people thing. I don't like talking about my romantic likes and dislikes, period. End of discussion. I never have. I do not like talking about what boys I like, and I do not like talking about what girls I like, celebrities of either gender notwithstanding. But what I want to know is, does this automatically shut me up in the closet? I don't think so, necessarily. Like, I really wouldn't have a problem dating a girl and then, if other people asked about it, confirming their suspicions. It doesn't bother me. But otherwise, I don't want to talk about romance with other people who aren't my romantic partner. It's something I prefer to be private, not because I'm ashamed, but because I like keeping some things special by keeping them exclusive and private. Is that a good enough defense?

But I ended up telling Gina. Who is bisexual, by the way. I kind of guessed when she showed me lesbian porn. Which, I don't know, didn't do very much for me in the first place. I'm weird to pin down, I'm really only sexually attracted to certain people, gender be damned (hello, ringing endorsement for pansexuality). And it's like, okay, girl licking another girl's vulva, and very aggressively; can I go read Sam/Dean smut now?

You'd think I'd be more into girl-on-girl action. Not really. Only with some. Same with guys, only with some. Only with those whom I have an emotional attachment to. Hence all of the fanfiction love. Here's my eureka moment; I prefer those to whom I'm emotionally invested. And it's like, okay, the whole idea of having sex with a girl doesn't turn me off, but it doesn't turn me on either. It's a very "meh" place. And I'm quite the same with a guy; I can look at a mildly attractive guy and still feel nothing for him, and if I feel nothing, that's the end of our relationship right there. And I can't say I'd rather have sex with a guy, because I wouldn't. I'd rather have sex with someone I loved. Please to be leaving the "Sex" field blank.

BUT I TOLD GINA ANYWAY. And the next day, we hung out again, and we were in the lounge watching a very pretty performer, Liset Alea, who was singing in the lounge. And after her performance, Gina grinned and called me a carpet muncher.

The writer in me is gagging. I violently dislike the euphemism. Not because of lesbian implications, but because it's vulgar, and not in the fantastic way. I really don't like the word "munch." Writer thing. Bad bad bad. Sapphic, on the other hand, is pretty. But carpet muncher? No. And then she left a Facebook comment on something saying, "I KNOW WHAT SHE REALLY WANTS." She deleted it upon request, but now I'm really wishing I hadn't told her. Because, um, no. What I want is someone I can trust and love and stand to be around for more than a day, for with most people, I can't stand it. I wish I could, but it doesn't happen. I don't just want a hot girl. Hell fucking no. Neither do I just want a hot guy. To look at, fine, the Todd appreciates hot, regardless of gender. But no further.

So I'm kind of wishing I hadn't said anything to her, if she's going to keep this up. And I plan on talking to her and further explaining my side of things should it continue, but it still really bothers me. I read somewhere a very succinct comment that said, "Bisexuality =/= wanting to fuck everyone, tyvm." And it's true. Hell, it doesn't even really widen up my playing field, which is ridiculously narrow to begin with (the joy of being impossibly picky).

Ugggggggh. I slept in today. Woke up at two or three. It was fantastic.

~I'm in luv wit a strippa~

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 05:44:20 GMT

So we're doing Rocky Horror Picture Show. Cool, right? Right. We're doing it the way they perform it at live midnight screenings--movie in the background, actors in front of the screen. I tried out for Magenta--in hindsight, way too exuberant and a little uncoordinated, I would've been much better off had I freshly viewed her Time Warp solo. Nevertheless, I do have a part--Trixie!

I only knew her as "That Girl Who Sings 'Science Fiction, Double Feature,'" and I didn't know she had a legitimate role in The Rocky Horror Show. And her role's a sexy stripper usherette role.

I'm actually pretty okay with this. I don't think I'll mind doing a striptease--honestly, I kind of like having everyone's attention that way, because it's hyperpowerful, to have so much control over the audience. It means I can't drink soda at all until October 30th, but that's a sacrifice I'll have to make. I also know all of the audience participation for Science Fiction. Aaaaand, in Supernatural, Double Feature, Science Fiction closes out the fic. And there's Wincest at the end. I don't know, it's kind of a special song for me.

I think my lipstick helped. MAC, Dubonnet, with a butterscotch-bronze Wet n' Wild gloss on top of it. And, I don't know. I like acting like I'm sexy? I'm a sensual Taurus, an emotional Pisces, a firebrand Aries and a razor-sharp Gemini? Eh.

Another girl's going to be doing the same thing with me. And yes, I'm quite aware that we were the ones who didn't get picked for Magenta and Janet, but, y'know. Babby steps.

Also, maybe, I'm pretty sure the guy in front of me (fuck if I remember his name, but he's playing Eddie) and the guy behind me (Riff-Raff) liked me. I don't know. Oh, and Doobie (Dr. von Scott) was there, and so was Patrick (Frank n' Furter by default, but woe betide him had I gone out for that part). And we talked. And I insulted Patrick a lot, because that's fun, and he takes it, and Beth (Janet) behind us thought that we were really close friends.

Er. Well. I don't know him very well. And, I don't know, he kind of asked me out and I turned him down? I'm pretty sure he still likes me, sort of--twice he commented that I was going to be a dominatrix when I grew up, and he asked if I could do his makeup and help him pick out a costume. I'll help, but no, I'm not really into him.

Riff-Raff, however, was cute. And he likes Repo! and Arrested Development. So I hope he likes me, and it'd be awesome if he could ask me out, because he's quite cute. Really.

Speaking of guys I like, listen to this story. For my acting class, we've been telling the class memories from our lives based on a randomly-assigned adjective. My adjective was "angry." So, I told the class the story I have posted over on quill_pen, the one about my mom taking a little too many sleeping pills and scaring me. The story works better for hurt, or scared; honestly, the anger came much later, when I had time to think about it and be mad at my mom for letting that happen. And, I don't know, I felt the story. Yeah, I ended up fudging a few details--I wasn't doing homework on my mom's bed with my sister, I was in my own room alone doing homework, but a) that's not the relevant part and b) I was going to tell a story where my mom for some reason threatened to call the cops on my dad (don't even ask me, I have no fucking idea why, they've been happily married for twenty years this past October 1st so I can't for the life of me recall why that happened) and I screamed at her and freaked out, but I didn't remember the story, so I switched it out.

It's not a fun memory for me. Telling it, I could remember how everything looked--my mom's glazed eyes; seeing her sit on the toilet, so out of it, a pack of Captain Black's by her; the cigarettes (cigars? I don't know, they might be cigars) that I broke, spilling the tobacco into my bathroom's toilet, smelling it, watching it swirl in a mess as the water flushed away. Sobbing into the phone, talking to my dad, absolutely terrified that my mom would have to be hospitalized, that she might die, that my dad was too far away in Texas or California or I don't know where, unable to get to us in time. I'm still--it still hurts, to really think about it. To know that my mom had taken a little too much medication, that she smoked in secret (I don't think she does regularly, anyway, but it was a betrayal nonetheless), that'd she'd fall apart so fast, so hard. It's a personal memory, I don't tell people about it, and I ended up spilling my guts (not my tears, I thought I would cry but I didn't) to the class.

And I looked up, or around, I should say--I kind of gazed into the middle of the two rows, using it as a focal point, and I need to learn to focus on the whole audience, which I tried to do. And everyone was actually focused on me. Which was interesting, and empowering, and I think Lane (the professor) and everyone really did like it, or at least felt it.

Or they're lying bitches:

Matt: Caroline's story was a definite stand-out. I could see everything through her eyes and I could feel the anger she was describing. Her story really evoked a frightening feeling in me. I did not know how it was going to end, and it turned-out to be very open-ended which I liked.

Mike: I felt like during this time when stories were being presented, that Caroline’s was the most well done out of them all. This story easily evoked the most emotions out of me while I was listening to it. Just the way she described the most finite details, like when she described the tobacco being washed down the toilet. This is such a small detail that ends up making the story more entrancing and keeps you interested in what happens next.

Alexa: (re: Mike's post) I agree that the tobacco was a very strong detail in Caroline's story.

Trevor: The stories ranged from calm and relaxing and funny anecdotes, like Kyle and Ryan's stories, to darker and more disturbing tales, such as Caraline's [sic].

I thought that the stories were all very well told. Caraline's [sic] in particular was a very intense experience, as her angry stare and harsh language reinforced the frightening narrative she delivered.

Kristen: Caroline's story was the one that kept me on the edge of my seat. Honestly I was scared when she said she went to the door and she didn't hear her mom inside. I also like how she ended it too. It was kind of like an open ended story... to be continued or something.

Kristen: (re: Alexa re: Kristen) I totally agree with what you said about jumping ahead in the story. When Caroline was telling her story I kept jumping ahead in my mind and what I thought she was going to say was completely different then what she said. I also liked the fact that the storytelling exercise helped us to get to know our classmates better. We interact a lot in this class but we never really get to know each other. This exercise really let's us get to see what our classmates are like.

Dave: Caroline’s story was also good; you could tell that this story still makes her mad to talk about. When she was going into the detail about the room and how she had to step up to the challenge of getting the family into control. You could hear the anger in her voice when she was talking about her mom being a different person than she expected. The detail about how she broke up every cigarette and flushed them down the toilet was great and I felt like I was looking at it.

Kristen: (re: Dave) Yeah, I sensed Caroline's anger as well.

Mike: (re: Dave) I thought that the flushing of the tobacco down the toilet was a great detail added by Caroline as well.

Kyle: (this is the kid I kind of like--lol, what? Metaphor? Vortex?! CHAAARLIIIIIIE) Caroline’s story was a bit darker than the previous stories. When she kept saying that she was 13, it really paints the image of how young she was and how scared she must have been. The way she described the tobacco swirling in the toilet bowl was somewhat metaphorical. It could be compared to her mind, how it was swirling in a vortex when she discovered that her mother was a smoker, and that she had some unknown problem. I could really tell she put a lot of emotion into it by the look in her eyes.

Kristen: (re: Kyle) Caroline's story was dark but, again, the way she told it made me really interested.

Rachael: (re: Kyle) I did not think of the tobacoo swirling into the toilet as a metaphor before reading your journal. It is a very good way to look at it because it could very easily be compared to her feelings.

And so, like I posted in my own post for this, it's a challenge, but when it works, the reward is astonishing.

And hell yeah, I'm the motherfuckin' princess~

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 00:04:50 GMT

Quiz School - Try this quiz and get your own certificate

Benben is in my room and sniffing EVERYTHING.

Sun, 11 Oct 2009 07:06:45 GMT

He's a very odd dog, I'll give him that, but he is prettyprettypretty and fluffy and doesn't mind when I hug him too tightly. 'Cause when I hug, and I mean really hug, not just stand there stiffly and awkwardly because I'm afraid, I hug tight. It's just, I get afraid people don't want that intensity of emotion.

That's why I avoid most hugs, anyway. Not because I want to, because I'm afraid of other people. It sucks, but it's true.

Ugh, I don't know, I feel weird and depressed tonight. I'm back home again--there was seriously nothing to do this weekend, most people went home, so I went home too. And then Facebook-stalked Chrissy's Wall-to-Wall with Ariane and felt, stronger than usual, just how much I've pulled away from them.

Do you know, I've never really had a friendship that's lasted once we changed schools? Things go so wrong with my friends. We never talk outside of school, really. I'm going to blame that on distinct parts: I tend not to need to talk to others, or need companionship, I've always been far too independent for the rest of the world's tastes and that's not exactly wonderful all of the time; as much as I've improved in the social realm, and I've improved considerably and may now socialize properly and skillfully, I'm still not a social creature--like, I can do it, but most of the time I don't want to. And just, things fall apart with friends. I developed crushes on two, three girls. Alison hated me towards the end of eighth grade; Katie may not have known, and I was still confused and lost from Alison, but we were never very close anyway. Ariane took it how I expected--understanding and letting me down while promising friendship if I worked for it too. And honestly, I haven't. I've never worked to keep a friendship. It's bad, I know, it's a horrible habit and I hate it so much, and I know I can't blame all of it on insecurity, fear of friends not wanting me to be myself.

Because myself unrestrained is very messy with her emotions. Very open, hyperaffectionate, overly protective. Except people take that the wrong way, so much, and I get afraid I'm going to lose what friendships I have cultivated, and I don't want to. So it's this fear--and I could probably analyze it out of existence, I've done that with a few fears already, but this fear is so basic and I've had it for so long--that keeps me from wanting to spend so much time with friends. That and everything else.

And I look at others and I am jealous. I'd love to call Chrissy up and ask her to go see a movie with me, or just hang out at her house. And somehow have her bring Ariane--look, things are pretty much ungood with us now. I haven't kept my end of the deal, so she didn't keep hers. She tried to talk to me a few days after I moved in at Rowan, except I turned into some sarcastic bitchmonster and she assumed I wanted her to leave me alone (never), so she did. She's an idiot, an assuming idiot and I wish things were right between us.

Meh. At least Roxanne seems like the kind of person I could hug freely without fear of ramifications. She's just like that. Baby steps, girl.

In other news, I want more red lipstick. Much much more. I love it. I have MAC's Russian Red, and I've been wearing that more and more, and I want a dark, almost currant-y red and a pure red, which are seemingly impossible to find. Also, my eyebrows need to grow out more and I have to drink more water so my skin looks flawless.

In other other news, SICK!VERSE GOT TAKEN DOWN! :-( Sick!verse is my favorite J2 story. And the author grew uncomfortable with the subject matter of the story, and how it was real people on whom she'd inflicted such damage. Understandable, and I respect her decision, but... but... *sob* I have it saved, and I have the PDF version, and there's an extra copy on my hard drive, and I'm thinking about asking for a Kindle for Christmas so I can find a way to transfer my favorite fics to it (there's gotta be a file converter somewhere), but...

:-( It's fantastic. It really is. http://www.mediafire.com/?jjz5yomxnyq That's the PDF, very nicely arranged, now GO READ IT.

pokes fic

Sun, 04 Oct 2009 20:08:03 GMT

Jeebus. It's good, I'll say that about it, and officially at 2,625 words as of now. It may break 5000 or 6000, depending. And I have the scenes lined up, I know where I'm going with it, but. It doesn't want to write itself.

Mreghle.

Also, I realized a few days ago that my favorite songfic, addicted to, was taken off FF.net for some odd reason. It was set to "Spark" by Tori Amos, it was a oneshot set around Pansy Parkinson, and Pansy Parkinson was involved in an illicit affair with Lucius Malfoy while simultaneously lusting after Hermione Granger and the normal happiness in which she and her friends would frolic. And it was really good! It wove the lyrics into the actual piece, and it's not there anymore.

I meant to show it to Gina--I've gotten her addicted to slash, you see. She's eighteen and she's never heard of slash before, and she has heard of fanfiction, although I highly doubt her level of involvement is anywhere near your average fandomgoer's. But I showed her Bond a week or two ago, Bond being my favorite Harry Potter fic and actually, legitimately good; as in, Harry/Draco is made believable, the writing is high-quality, and the characters remain in-character. The sex isn't incredibly graphic, choosing to focus more on the emotions than actual smut, and it's also a good fandom to start off in because most people at this point don't need to familiarize themselves with the canon, so it's a great story to start off a newbie in. So I did. Sort of.

She came over to my dorm room That Fateful Day, and I was rereading Bond. She noticed, and I told her, and I mentioned that the chapter was on was probably one of the pornier ones. So she read. And was horribly fascinated. Then I showed her the other porny chapter, Chapter 9, and she needed more. I showed her If You're Into It, which is J2 and size!kink. And hey, if you're looking for straight-up porn... She kind of had to stop that one, because her boyfriend/fiancè's name is Jay and Jensen used the nickname in the fic, but I suspect she went back and read it nevertheless (I emailed it and Bond to her).

Now I've given her a link to Black Truth. Black Truth is a little OOC. It's otherkin. It is pretty good, though, and I imagine that it's also right up her alley--sex, wingfic, Harry and Draco, soul mates and auras and all of that. I have plans to introduce her to the classics of the S.S. Guns n' Handcuffs, or at least giving her a few pointers and recs and letting her go off to explore.

It's cute though! Remember your first time, getting into fandom? When you didn't know what "slash" was or that there were entire communities dedicated to helping you make your fevered dreams come true? I got into fandom when I was about eleven or twelve; I'd been making up my own egregiously horrid Mary Sue AUs for Inuyasha, Dragonball Z and Pokèmon, safe in the confines of my mind, when I was ten or eleven, and then I discovered the Pit of Voles and was ecstatic. I printed out the first fic I ever read, doncha know; Inuyasha and Kagome had a son, it was seven chapters long, and I can't imagine it was all that wonderful. But it was so fun, back then, and it still is now, but you get to doing this for years and it becomes old hat--still beloved, still cherished, overall much better in quality, but lacking the sparkle of the brand new. So I get to pretty much guide her through slash and fandom in general.

And she's also a ripe convert for Supernatural, and a Samgirl to boot, which will just be fun, fun, fun. :-) Though I assume she's the type who'd see Sam as the dominant, hyperaggressive monster with the Cock of Doom to prove it, and Dean would be the whimpering, sycophantic girl. I swear, I sometimes feel like I'm the only bottom!Sam Samgirl (bottom!Samgirl? yeah, that'd do it) and bottom!Jensengirl (I'm pretty evenly split with the guys, it's only when we talk about the brothers that I feel the urge to shift over to the Samgirl camp) in the fandom. And that I also believe the bottoms have the emotional upper hand. And age factors into both in different ways. It's weird; I could write a meta.

Or not, because I can't write.

Ugh.

I go back to school later today. I was home from Wednesday to today, and I quite loved it. Saw Zombieland (GO SEE ZOMBIELAND) on Friday night, and then, at 11:30 PM, I requested to go see Rocky Horror again at midnight. And I got to! :-) Yes I'm lucky and very well spoiled.

I'm kind of dreading Intro. to Theatre tomorrow. Not really for anything but Rob, who had me do the acting piece. I didn't mind the piece itself, it's just. Now Rob's kind of giving me the creeps. I don't know, that whole solo-hanging-out-with-him thing was not something I quite enjoyed in hindsight. His Facebook status says he's In A Relationship, so that's good, but I'm still getting a little creeped and bothered, and I shouldn't be, he's pretty nice, but. I don't know. I will happily admit that I can have some really irrational reasons for disliking someone. I dunno, it's just... an unpleased gut feeling. And I trust my instinct. So no, I do not want to read Shakespeare's Sonnet 71 with him as the other person. Even if I can properly separate character from actor, it's still bothering me.

And that makes me think, Am I cut out for this profession? I don't know. I'd like to think that if it were anyone else in the room, sure, but. Eh. Maybe emotions just tend to hit me harder? And I didn't like having that emotion produced from the sonnet associate with real-person interactions? I have no idea. But it fucking sucked. So I told him I was busy, and if he asks again I'll politely tell him to maybe find a new actor.

Urg.

CA-THO-LIC GIIIIRLS~

Tue, 29 Sep 2009 20:54:48 GMT

I am one, actually. Though my high school uniform was not very flattering. :-)

So I did my first real acting thing today! This guy, Rob, he has to direct something for his Directing class, and he needed actors really quickly, so he asked and since I was free today and am free at a certain time tomorrow, I said sure. I need experience, you know. I read William Shakespeare's Sonnet 71, and it's pretty simple, I suppose--it's essentially a letter to a loved one from a dead person. So I read it. And I think I did well. I'm still--like, you can tell I'm new, but hopefully what you can also tell is that I have potential and that I want to do this, and do it well.

But Rob. Eh. Here lies the problem. See, I think he might like me; the sad thing is I'm getting used to people whom I don't like liking me, and people whom I like not liking me back. It's horrible and it's honestly turning me off the whole notion of relationships. Sort of. But I think he might like me. We share common interests--Repo!, Supernatural, Watchmen, certain types of comedy. And that's fine and all, for friends. Okay too for a boyfriend, except.

I'm really picky, right? Right; pansexuality and all, "attraction to a human regardless of gender." In other words, either I like you or I don't. There's this pull to some people, this spark, and I can feel it and feel enamoured. And I want that. Not many people are like that. Alison had it. Ariane had it. Katie, well, I think she offered me comfort where I wanted it, but in a way I could understand--she was safe to like, so long as she never found out and told me so. Heather may have it. This kid, Kyle, in my acting class. He might have it. Hell, Daneka had it, and she was all the way over in Canadia. I could tell over the Internet. But if you lack it, I don't want you, and I'm not going to share vulnerabilities and sex and nearly-unconditional love with you.

So it's making life awkward to live like that. I can't change it, and I don't want to, but it's still awkward. Worse because Rob may have to act in the piece if he can't get a second actor; I'd still have to read the sonnet, sure, but to him, like he was the person to whom the sonnet's addressed. And I know, I know, I'd be acting, and he shouldn't really be Rob, but I'm nowhere near that level of proficiency, so it's still weird and unsafe and unsure and uncomfortable.

Meh. At least he said I was pretty good. Like, when I read the whole sonnet after going over every little bit, he seemed quite impressed. So hey, I can do this. The thing was, he had promised to pay for lunch afterwards for whomever showed up, and since I was the only one who could make it out of three people, it was just us, and that wasn't horrible but it made me kind of uncomfortable. I hid it, but.

Oy vey.

I suppose I have a fear of relationships with the wrong people. I know everything can't go like I read about in fic, or see in the movies. I do. But.

I mean. It could be that I quite like Heather. And that I want her to fuck me really hard with a sparkly strap-on. And then cuddle and watch Supernatural. Or Mean Girls. Except she's straight, relentlessly so, and I'm caught in another pattern where I know each stitch by heart and can't bring myself to rip them from the fabric.

Uuuuuuugh.

I should really go work on dancingfic. Oh, also? Having your roommate walk in on you while you're getting off? Not fun. I mean, I'm on a bunk bed, and she didn't see, but.

NOT. FUN. AT. ALL. I had to wait for like, half an hour, and after that it's just. Ugh. Wasn't terribly fun.

Oy. I'm going home Wednesday and coming back Sunday (and blowing off my Friday class in the meantime--I can miss it, I'm doing so responsibly) and I want to maybe go shopping with my mom or go up to the city or see a movie, maybe with Chrissy ~~and Ariane~~. But what I really think I need is a break. Doing this in small steps.

Nothing else, really. I've gotten accustomed to college life, I believe. I go off-campus a lot now, just exploring the places around. Mostly in this one area, Collegetown, which is pretty much every fast food restaurant ever plus a few others, a couple of stores, a Shop Rite! I haven't been to Shop Rite since I was six! Yay! And it's a nice Shop Rite, too, though I do have to wonder if the bathrooms are still in the Employees Only section like they were in Freehold. And my classes are good, very good, I'm very grateful. I really like Stagecraft (we burst into song! "Seasons of Love" and "Popular"!) and Experiencing Acting.

That last one--we did this exercise yesterday. We had to sit across from someone and stare into their eyes for five seconds. People couldn't do it without cracking (I, meanwhile, never cracked. You're damn right I can stare into a stranger's eyes and not do anything). Then we rotated and did this for ten seconds, and so on. And then we started making it harder, adding in hand-holding, touches to the knees, to the cheek. So Kyle, who is the kid I may like--he and I were partnered up for the hand-holding part. And it wasn't that bad. It's really a fun class, and I'm learning things--how I have to drop my walls (hence the staring), how I have to be in the now, and I see how they'd work in acting. So I'm learning, and I'm grateful.

SUPERNATURAL THURSDAY OMIGOD I GET TO WATCH IT AT HOME ON THE BIG-SCREEN TV WITH MY DOGS AND AND AND IT'S GOING TO BE SUPER BECAUSE 1) ORGIES 2) SAMCIFER 3) ORGIES 4) TWO DEEEEEEEANS 5) POTENTIAL MAKE-UP SONG 6) WAIT THEY'RE REALLY GOING THERE, ORGIES MAN

SQUEEEEEEEEEE~

Grooveshark Widget: Single Song

Mon, 28 Sep 2009 17:09:43 GMT

This song. THIS SONG. <33333 CHILL OUT REMIX!

Sam : Willow :: Dean : Tara

Sun, 27 Sep 2009 08:46:05 GMT

"Things fall apart. They fall apart, so hard."

"Tara?"

"You can't ever put 'em back the way they were."

"Are you okay?"

"Sorry, it's just... you know, it takes time. You can't just have coffee and expect--"

"I know."

"There's just so much to work through. Trust has to be built again, on both sides. You have to learn if, if we're even the same people we were, if you can fit in each others' lives. It's a long, important process... can we just skip it? Can you--can you just be kissing me now?" --end of 6.18 "Entropy," Buffy the Vampire Slayer

In other words. 5.04 "The End"? Please to be ending like this. Better yet if Dean pretty much copies Tara's exact words and then sheepishly admits this episode was on TV when he decided to make up with Sam. Because I do think in the end it'll be him. I think Sam will try first, fail, and then Dean post-dream will reverse his decision and apologize/accept Sam's own apology. And there will be much rejoicing throughout the land.

Seriously, though, Tara's words are really very perfect for Sam and Dean's reunion (if Kripke has it happen on screen--he's a sly man, that Kripke, although I think that, after all this time, after this long, angstuous wait, he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to squeeze in as much heartfelt schmoop for the two). I especially liked her comment about trust being built on both sides--after hearing fangirls bitch about which brother was in the wrong, I'd like to hear someone on the show say that both brothers were being blockheads who couldn't trust each other. So I want that sort of admission. Really, the Buffy reference would do wonderfully. Also, if we could get an extremely teary hug/resting of heads on shoulders/ultragirly schmoop, that'd be greeeeeat.

Fic: In Keds and Tube Socks

Thu, 24 Sep 2009 15:58:49 GMT

In Keds and Tube Socks
Jensen/Jared, pg-13, 5700 words.
High school!AU based off of the song "Teenage Dirtbag" by Wheatus.

On his first day of high school, Jared gets lost three times: once for American Literature, once for Biology, and once for U.S. History. It’s because he’s new here; he doesn’t have the luxury of familiarity with the building, not like the kids who came from the K-thru-8 next door.

Even so, he’s still quite mortified when he barges in on the seniors in AP Psych; he barely stutters out a “sorry, just lookin’ for three twenty-eight” as some of the kids snigger. Which they can do; they’re seniors and they’re cool and all. It’s traditional to make fun of the freshmen.

The teacher, a short lady with impeccable taste in fashion, raises an eyebrow and says, amused, “Jensen, why don’t you show this boy to his class.”

And the kid—no, not kid, not even boy, the man—who stands up smiles evenly, says, “Sure, Mrs. Walsh,” and snags the hall pass off the hook.

He’s. Well. You know how some people, when the light catches them right, and the air’s breezy and sweet, and they’re wearing their most flattering shade, are passable at best? Jensen is sauntering down a fluorescent-lit school hallway, wearing a rumpled, pit-stained oxford, wrinkled jeans and Dorothy’s-ruby-slippers-red Keds. The Texan air is scorching and everyone’s sweating like pigs. He has a zit on his chin.

Jensen is absolutely gorgeous. Jared doesn’t fall, he pencil-dives off the precipice. He hops on that bomb and rides it all the way down.

He takes a moment to deliberate. Should he talk to Jensen? They’re alone, but Jensen is a senior and Jared’s a lowly freshman, and unless you’re on a sports team there’s no interaction between the castes. And if he does talk, what does he talk about? His AP Psych class? No, that outs him as a weirdo. School in general? No! Weirdo! What about—

“What room was it again?”

“Uh.” Jared’s poor, overwhelmed heart beats faster. “Room—um.” Crap.

Jensen laughs, a low and deep chuckle that twists and turns its way round Jared’s nervous-butterfly stomach. “Just tell me what class.”

“Bio,” he squeaks.

“Three twenty-eight?”

He nods.

Jensen smiles easily. “Don’t be so nervous. I don’t bite.”

But I wish you did. “Sorry, it’s just. You know. First day.”

Jensen cocks an eyebrow. “You look a little young to be a freshman. I mean,” he says, “all you freshmen look young once you get up here, but.”

Jared flushes, ears red underneath his hair. “I, uh. I skipped a grade. Sixth.”

“A real egghead, huh,” Jensen says and oh God is he teasing? But more importantly, is it flirty-teasing or teasing-teasing? Jared’s hands shake, and he stammers out a weak, “Yeah, I guess,” and lets his mind go back to its doomed torment.

They reach the classroom, Jensen starts to leave, and Jared seizes the moment. “My name’s Jared!” he says, too loudly and too desperately.

Jensen turns, wearing an expression of serious amusement. He raises both his eyebrows, smiles that weird smile of someone who Does Not want to smile at you, and nods once, slowly. Then he pivots and continues down the hallway.

“Just… so you know,” Jared finishes, and turns and knocks on the closed door, already heartbroken on his first day of high school.

--

Physical education officially starts two weeks later, when the soccer field’s finally rid of dangerous underground beehives. Class is a mixture of freshmen and seniors. Why, Jared doesn’t know. He guesses it has to do with his major obsession over a certain dark blond, megawatt-smile senior, laughing with his friends across the small lobby. Life works like that, cruel and mocking.

They’ve been told to line up and wait here while the coach sets up the soccer goals, and Jared’s busy observing: the brilliant grin, the patient listening expression, the relaxed, bowlegged stance he takes, one hand in his pocket and the other one giving a high five to another senior—Jason? Or is that one Steve? Jensen has a lot of friends, and Jared’s having trouble memorizing them.

Chad snorts. “Be any more obvious?”

Jared flushes bright red. “I’m not—dude.”

Chad shrugs casually. “I don’t really care, man. More girls for me.”

Jared has to retort, “You wish,” but he does feel a little more secure.

“Hate to break it to you, fairy princess,” Chad says, “but Jensen’s taken. Or takes, I don’t know it works.” He wrinkles his nose. “And I don’t really want to.”

“He has a girlfriend?” Jared says, shoulders slumping.

“He had a girlfriend,” Chad says. “And three boyfriends before that, and four girlfriends before that.” Jared’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline and Chad chuckles. “Gets around, doesn’t he?”

“Maybe he’s just, I don’t know. Looking for love in all the wrong places?”

Chad laughs. Some of the freshmen stare. None of the seniors do. “Looking for something but it ain’t love, man.”

Jared sets his jaw in a firm line. “How do you know?”

Chad arches an eyebrow. “I knew about the parade of exes, didn’t I? Dude, I wouldn’t lie you to about that.” His hand claps Jared’s shoulder. “Give up on it. Fantasize about, I don’t know, Brad Pitt or someone.”

Jared frowns. “I’m good, thanks.” The coach comes back and they’re silent as he takes attendance, and then directs them to the locker room to change.

That’s a lot of fun, trying to keep his staring surreptitious and his mind focused. But really, all he can think about is how Jensen’s ubiquitous freckles look like light coffee splatters on cream-colored skin, and how that makes Jared tumble head over heels for him.

--

Jensen has a boyfriend. Of course he does. It makes Jared’s jealousy roar like some kind of monster.

His boyfriend is named Christian, everyone calls him Kane, and only Jensen calls him Chris or Chrissy-poo. Jared highly doubts the veracity of Chrissy-poo. Chad assures him it’s only to emasculate the man and used in strictly dire situations.

Still. Chrissy-poo? Yeah, right.

Christian Kane drives a ’69 Chevrolet Camaro. He’s pretty smart but he doesn’t try. He plays guitar in a band. He’s not even bad looking, if Jared’s honest.

“It’s ‘cause he’s a dick,” Chad says at lunch. “Jensen likes that.”

“But why.” Jared attempts to puzzle it out, not understanding.

“Well,” Chad amends. “He’s not so much a dick as he is, like, confident and shit. Like cocky but not. And Jensen likes that attitude.”

“You know an awful lot about what Jensen likes and doesn’t like,” Jared grouses.

“I’ve been seeing him on weekends. Thought I told you,” Chad says. “By the way,” he smirks, “above-average.”

The thought—yeah, Jared got the meaning—makes him flush deep red to the roots of his hair. But true or not, that’s not why he’s into Jensen. It’s just a part of the whole picture.

It’s just. It’s Jensen. His awesome smile, his friendly-yet-aloof attitude, how all the teachers love him and yet he’s not a teacher’s pet. How he’s reportedly never been to detention, even though he’s gotten tons of little pink slips, and no one thinks to bring it up. How, when he won Junior Prom King last year, instead abdicated and dedicated the crown to a friend who had recently passed away. He then gave a heartfelt yet non-saccharine speech in his memory. Guy got a standing ovation.

Those things. The magic that makes a person extraordinary. It’s why an ordinary kid like Jared fell so hard, so fast.

It’s also why an ordinary kid like Jared has no chance. Jared dejectedly stabs at his salad and tries to block out the sounds of Jensen’s deep laughter, echoing from across the cafeteria.

--

Chad and Jared are walking from school to Chad’s house when he asks, “So, who ya taking to homecoming?”

Jared almost trips over a crack in the pavement. “Huh?”

“Homecoming. Two months away. Pretty important.” He then says thoughtfully, “Well, not as important as prom. But definitely more important than semiformal.”

While Jared cannot argue with the Sliding Scale of High School Dance Importance, he scoffs. “I’m not going.”

“Okay, except for the part where you are.”

Jared mutters, “Who are you taking, then.”

“Sophia,” Chad says promptly.

Jared does trip this time, but manfully regains his balance. “Sophia, like, seventh grade-Sophia?”

“She’s not in seventh grade,” Chad says.

“Oh, sixth grade? Dude. Cradle-robbing.”

“Whatever,” Chad scoffs, “she’s hot.”

“Are they even gonna let her in the building?” Jared wonders aloud. “I mean, that’s like, illegal.”

“No it’s not,” Chad says. “At least I’ll have a date. Dude, you better get someone.”

Jared sighs. “Is there even a point? Let’s say I go to homecoming. I’m just gonna spend the whole night moping. I can mope perfectly fine at home. Better, even.”

“Jared, Jared, Jared.” Chad slings an arm casually around Jared’s slumped shoulders. “Let this go. It’s not healthy. You’re, what’s the word. Pining.”

“No I’m not,” Jared mumbles.

“Pining, wasting away, drooling over the hot senior star quarterback.”

“He’s a tight end,” Jared mutters automatically, to which Chad responds with hysterics. He says, “Oh, grow up,” and Chad keeps on laughing.

--

Jared needs extracurricular activities. The only real sport he’s any good at is basketball—finally a use for that growth spurt—but that doesn’t start until winter, and colleges like seeing well-rounded applicants. So he signs up for this Student Teacher bid, puts his name down for calculus tutoring.

So what? He’s good at calculus. It happens, even with freshmen. Needless to say, the teacher conducting the exchange tries to correct him. “You mean algebra, don’t you?”

“No ma’am,” Jared says politely. “Calculus. Derivatives, antiderivatives, optimizations, curve analysis, curve behavior…”

She cuts him off and lets him stay on.

Exactly a week later, Jared gets a small slip of paper from the teacher. “You’ll have to arrange the meetings yourselves,” she says kindly. “I’d suggest something on the weekends when you don’t have after-school activities.”

Jared’s too busy staring at Jensen Ackles written in blue ink on the slip. Because, no way. No way!

“Jared?” He glances up. “Is that all right?”

It’s way more than all right.

--

Because Jared is too chickenshit (Chad’s words) to ask Jensen himself, what follows naturally is a game of Telephone.

It starts with Jared telling Chad to tell Jensen to come by his house at three P.M. on Saturday afternoon. Chad tells Alexis. Alexis tells Sophia and Chad secures his date to homecoming.

“You’re a big help,” Jared grumbles when he hears the news.

Chad’s too busy gloating.

Jared tries again. He skips Chad altogether and asks Tom, who’s a really nice senior, a casual friend of Jensen’s and Jared’s peer counselor. This system is a highly-efficient improvement, and Tom says Jensen will be there. Jared writes down his address, home phone and email and pushes it at Tom with a huge grin plastered on.

Tom says, “I think Jensen could’ve done with just the address,” and Jared doesn’t hear him, he’s too excited.

Excitement sublimates to euphoria by Friday, and euphoria, which has a very low specific heat, speedily condenses to nervous butterflies come Saturday morning. Should this continue, Jared will be a frozen statue of terrified anxiety, and that is just not on.

He straight up tells his family he needs the house totally cleared of human presence before three that afternoon. When questioned, he gives the expected response: “I’m throwing a huge party and I don’t want you to get involved with the prostitutes.” No one takes him seriously.

His brother laughs but he has a date anyway. His sister’s spending the day at the mall with her friends. His parents, after enough begging, agree to conveniently step out for the day.

They do not conveniently agree to stow all of the unpacked boxes away, leaving Jared to half-heartedly hope Jensen won’t notice the cardboard towers cluttering the house. He thinks it’s a long shot, personally.

Then the doorbell rings, and Jared’s stomach flips queasily. Which isn’t good; this is his favorite shirt (Iron Maiden, Fear of the Dark tour, a warm July night in the Freeman Coliseum, summed up perfectly as the Best Night of Jared’s Life) and he’d hate to get vomit on it.

And of course Jensen’s standing there in a pale green button-down, loose jeans that highlight how awesomely bowlegged he is, and Jensen’s eyebrows raise and he says, “Hey.”

“Uh. Hi. I’m Jared. Still Jared, actually. Uh, we’ve met before.”

Jensen nods slowly, like maybe he remembers. It’d be sweet if he remembered a little nobody like Jared, but if he doesn’t, well. “Can I come in?”

You have to ask? Except he does, because Jared’s just standing, basking in the glow. Which could just be solar radiation; it is pretty warm out. “Yeah, sure.”

Jensen steps in easily, narrowly avoiding a stack of taped-up boxes. “You moving somewhere?” he asks.

“Moved, actually. We came up here from San Antonio. My mom, she got a teaching job here, and since it’d be dumb to have her commute from San Antonio to Dallas five days a week we just up and moved, like that.” He’s aware he’s talking faster than a cheetah can run. It’s sort of a nervous reaction.

“Huh.” Jensen nods to himself, and Jared only hopes he didn’t just bore Jensen half to death.

“You wanna, um. Maybe we can go outside? It’s just, you know, it’s really nice out, and then we don’t have to worry about running into boxes and stuff.” Not that either of them would—Jared knows where all of the boxes are and Jensen has a cat’s lithe grace.

Jensen smiles. “Sure.” But more importantly, Jensen just smiled. At him. Score!

They end up sitting around the glass patio table, the Indian summer sun warm against everything it touches. It does everything for Jensen; Jared stares at how it highlights the blond in his hair, the blond hairs of his forearms, the perfect point of his nose and crap, Jensen’s just said something and he missed it. “Sorry?”

“I said, we should probably get started,” Jensen says, like Jared’s exceptionally slow.

That’s a good idea. “Uh, yeah, sounds—hey, by the way, did you want anything? Like a drink or something?” Smooth. Really smooth. Bond better watch out. “Like, a glass of water, I think we have lemonade, beer, sweet tea.”

As expected, Jensen arches an eyebrow at the third option. “I think I’ll stick with water, thank you.”

So Jared gets them two waters—crap, again, a drunk Jensen would’ve been easier to draw into his bedroom for illicit sodomy—and sits back down. Jensen opens his notebook. Jared scoots closer. “So what are y’all learning so far?”

“We just finished limits.” Jensen lets his disgust for all things x approaches show. “And we started derivatives yesterday.”

“Derivatives are easy,” Jared says.

Jensen snorts. “Not for me they’re not,” he says.

“Well,” Jared starts, slightly impeded by nervousness but determined to woo Jensen here and now, “what do you know about them?”

Jensen purses his lips. It should happen more often, Jared idly observes, after he picks his jaw up off the floor. “They’re a rate of change at one point.”

“And what does that mean?”

Jensen is silent.

“Come on, Jensen, there’s gotta be more to you than good looks,” Jared says. And promptly freezes. Oh sure, a part of him’s glad he got that out in the open, but it’s a tiny, fractional part; the rest of him’s screaming like tiny Japanese citizens who’ve just sighted Gojira-san.

Jensen merely chuckles, politely and to himself.

“A rate of change at one point is exactly that: it’s how a variable changes at only one point. Like, you know how you can tell how fast on average someone’s going between two points?”

“No…”

“Here.” Jared commadeers pencil and paper from Jensen, brushing his arm as he does so, and sketches out what he hopes will be a mathematical epiphany for Jensen. “Like that, see?”

Jensen studies the paper for a minute, green eyes scanning Jared’s large scrawl. “Kinda.”

“It’ll make sense when you do one. Got the problems?”

Jensen flips open his textbook. “Page 99, numbers five through sixteen. Just the derivative.”

Number five is easy: f(x) = 3. “I’ll teach you a quick shortcut,” Jared says conspiratorally, delighted when Jensen leans in, full attention focused on his student teacher. Awesome. If Jared were bolder, he’d lean in closer, so close until their lips were touching, and whisper, “The derivative of a constant is always zero,” in a breathy, husky voice, right against Jensen’s pink pillowy mouth.

He doesn’t. “The derivative of a constant is always zero,” he says, and it’s neither sexy nor hot.

“Oh.” Jensen cocks his head at his paper and writes down: f’(x): limΔx→0 = 0. “Thanks.”

My pleasure, Jared thinks sadly.

--

“So,” Chad says, several weeks later. “Didja ask him out yet?”

Jared glares at Chad. “No,” he says shortly.

“But homecoming’s tomorrow!” Chad exclaims.

“Chad, homecoming’s next week.”

“That’s what I said!” Chad says. “You gotta pick up your tux, and get him a corsage, and you have to call the restaurant ahead of time or you ain’t gonna get a reservation.”

“Dude, they serve dinner there,” Jared says.

“Classy guys go to restaurants.”

“Chad, you’re taking Sophia to Arby’s. Real classy.”

Chad shrugs. “She likes her some meat in her buns, who am I to say no?” he says. Then he replays his sentence and allows himself a slow, filthy grin.

Jared’s expression only shows disgust. “You’re a pervert,” he says.

“And you’re a sodomite. Oh wait, you’re not, because you haven’t asked Jensen Ackles out yet!”

Jared hits Chad’s arm, hard. “Shut up, he might hear you!” he hisses.

Jensen doesn’t hear them. He’s all the way on the other side of the soccer field, dressed in a loose shirt and shorts. It’s hot. Really hot, and Jared’s not talking about the weather. He’s caught himself drooling. So has Chad, but Chad pointed and laughed.

Reassured that Jensen hasn’t heard him, Jared frowns at Chad. “I’m not asking him out. I’m not going.”

Chad just rolls his eyes.

--

Jared ends up going to homecoming. He doesn’t know how. Chad was involved. Getting Chad to shut the hell up may have been the ultimate factor. Hope at seeing Jensen had only a little influence on his decision. Seriously.

It’s lively enough—no one’s outright wasted, and Jared’s pretty sure no one’s been smoking anything funny near him, and people are walking from their tables to their friends’ tables, laughing and talking. Girls compliment each others’ dresses and hairstyles while their identically well-dressed dates stand in a semicircle nearby and exchange greetings with a minimum of words and curt head-nods.

Jared is in neither camp. He’s sitting at his table, sipping at his sparkling water and taking in the hall again, searching for a certain senior. Who is, unfortunately, not there.

Chad comes back from the bathroom and wipes his hands on the expensive maroon tablecloth. “Didn’t see him, man,” he says. “Sorry.”

“I thought he was going to come,” Jared says, feeling disappointed. “I mean, I was sure of it.”

“You shoulda asked him out,” Chad says, shaking his head.

Jared sighs. Maybe he should have. Tonight looks to be incredibly dull—for him, anyway. No date, no dancing, no hanging with all of his friends, just standing on the outskirts of the polished wooden dance floor, or sitting in his chair all night, moping and drinking seltzer.

Then Chad tilts his head, cranes his neck and asks, “Hey, isn’t that Christian Kane?”

Jared’s head whips up, and his breath catches in a mix of hope and anxiety. It is. Except he has a very pretty girl on his arm, and not Jensen.

“Huh,” Chad comments. “That’s odd.”

“I thought Jensen and he were going out,” Jared says, rounding on Chad. “You told me they were.”

Chad shrugs. “Maybe it didn’t work out.”

Jared can’t really fault Chad—he could have gotten his information from a source who didn’t know any better, or maybe he tried to dissuade Jared’s crush on Jensen by telling him Jensen was already taken. But anyway, it doesn’t matter—Christian Kane is heading his way.

He stops right in front of Jared and Chad. “One of you named Jared?” he asks.

Jared hesitates. “Um.” Then he says, with more confidence than he’s feeling, “Yeah. Me.”

Christian Kane flashes him a grin. “You real busy right now? I mean,” he gestures around the room, “with the dancin’ and all.”

Jared shakes his head. Chad watches all of this through narrowed eyes, on the defensive.

“Jensen wanted to talk to you,” Christian Kane says. “He’s in the lobby.” He gives Chad a brief nod and saunters away, the very pretty girl still looped around his arm.

Jared sits there, lost between stunned and about-to-piss-his-pants-excited. Chad, too, seems briefly dazed.

“He wants to talk to me,” Jared says, ears still ringing. “Why?”

Chad shrugs. “Hell if I know. Hey, maybe he’s gonna drop you as his private tutor.”

Jared tries to kill Chad by glaring at him.

“What? Now you’ve got a worst case scenario. I bet he’s gonna, like, thank you for the calc help or something.” Chad pushes at Jared’s arm. “The hell are you waitin’ for?”

Right. What is he waiting for? Jared scrambles out of his seat and manages to slow down only when he’s right in front of the grand French doors leading out to the lobby.

Jensen’s leaning against a coral marble pillar, dressed in nice jeans and a distressed black T-shirt. His thumbs are hooked into his belt loops and he looks every bit cool and relaxed, even when he spots Jared. His eyes are trained on Jared as he approaches.

“Uh, hey,” Jared says, keeping it casual, feeling everything but. “You wanted to talk to me?” And then he replays that in his mind: You wanted to talk to me. It’s a nice thought, really nice.

Jensen grins at him and pulls two flimsy paper rectangles from his pocket. “So I wanted to find a way to thank you for your help so far in calculus,” he begins. There’s something in his tone—Jared could get drunk on it, deep and smooth and hot. Either that or he has a fever and needs more Jensen-cowbell. “And I remembered you wearing an Iron Maiden shirt at our first official calc meeting.” Jensen glances up and smirks. “Close your mouth, Jared, you’ll catch flies. Yes I remember.”

Jared flushes bright red and snaps his jaw shut.

“So I take it you’re a fan.”

Jared nods furiously. Words would be a lot to ask of him at this point. Thankfully, Jensen is being merciful.

“It’s not for Iron Maiden,” Jensen says, “it’s actually an Iron Maiden cover band, Pear of Anguish. I hear they’re pretty good. They’re doing a show tonight.” He holds out a ticket to Jared. “You in? It’s a little last minute, but…” He casts a skeptical glance out at the dance floor.

Jared all but snatches the ticket out of Jensen’s outstretched hand.

--

They go to the show. It’s tucked away in a moderately nice club, the illegitimate child of a seedy dive and an old-school lounge bar. Jared knows he’s overdressed, in a fitted tuxedo, beetle-shiny shoes and groomed hair, but for some reason that doesn’t quite matter.

Maybe it’s because Jensen knows the lyrics just as well as he does, or that the band’s actually very good, or that he was saved from a night of regretful boredom, or that Jensen freaking remembered his Iron Maiden shirt.

It could be that.

--

They get ice cream afterwards—it’s warm out, and not that late, so Jensen drives them to a family-owned ice cream parlor and gets one chocolate cone (for Jared) and one cookie dough cone (for himself).

“Cookie dough?” Jared asks in amusement.

Jensen grins, finds a lump of cookie dough and pops it into his mouth.

They’re sitting in the bed of Jensen’s truck, parked a little way across from the parlor, right by a field. Cicadas stir and chirrup, and the round moon gazes down at them, and the sweet warm air is quickly melting Jared’s dessert.

And there’s an awkward silence. Not that they’re masters of prolixity on a regular basis—the bulk of their conversation is absorbed by the finer points of calculus. It doesn’t lead to much else. What this does lead to, in Jared’s mind, is a question that’s plagued him since Jensen handed him his ticket to salvation: why?

“So,” Jared starts, because if he doesn’t ask now, he won’t ask later.

“So,” Jensen repeats.

“The band was good,” Jared says. “Thanks for asking me to come.”

Jensen shrugs. “Not a problem,” he says easily. “Chris bailed on me, I had the extra ticket, and I remembered you had that shirt on, so. Lucky for me you weren’t busy—you weren’t busy, were you?” Jensen asks, looks worried, in case he interrupted Jared’s night.

He did, but in the most pleasant of ways. “No, I was gonna be bored there,” Jared says. He then remembers that Jensen mentioned Christian Kane, involuntarily twitches. “I thought you and Kane would’ve gone to homecoming together,” he says. “Or, maybe not homecoming, ‘cause that’s kinda public, but I dunno—”

Jensen regards him with a level gaze. “Chris and I aren’t together,” he says. Then, lying back into the flatbed, eyes cast to the milky stars, “Not that I’d give a damn if we were. People talk anyway.”

Jared is going to have words with Chad when he gets back. And he’s also taking back his planned apology for ditching homecoming without notice. But what Jensen said… “You’re not?”

Jensen shakes his head.

Jared blurts out his next sentence: “And you only took me because you couldn’t find anyone else at short notice and you felt like you had to make up my calc tutoring somehow.”

“I was plannin’ on sellin’ the extra ticket if you said no,” Jensen says evenly. “Why are you so hot on this?”

Jared keeps his mouth shut.

“Is it ‘cause you like me?”

Jared’s mouth falls open.

Jensen grins at him. “Chris guessed for me, relax.”

“How’d he figure it out?” Jared wonders aloud, resting back in the flatbed.

“Hell if I know,” Jensen says, and for the moment they are stupefied. “And yeah, that was another reason.”

“You asked me,” Jared says, speaking slowly to put the pieces together, “because… you thought I liked you—”

“Chris thought that, I went along with it.”

“And you remembered my shirt,” Jared finishes. “Jensen,” he says, all of a sudden unsure of himself, ice cream softening to soup in its cone, “where are you going with this?”

“I don’t know,” Jensen replies, green eyes clear and looking straight at Jared, “where do you want to go with this?”

And Jared has to take a moment. He has to process that.

He asks, “Why me?”

“You mean, besides not havin’ to worry about if you like me?” Jensen says, but he says it easily, kindly, so Jared’s not too embarrassed. “I don’t know. Why’s anyone want to go out with anyone?”

Jared opens his mouth, but Jensen continues, concentrating on his melting ice cream. “You seem like a cool kid. You’re damn smart, I’ll give you that, and.” He falters. He blushes.

“What?” Jared asks.

Jensen shrugs. “Maybe I just like you,” he says. “You never told me why you like me.”

Would you like to see a list? I can make up a list. Jared slurps the rest of his ice cream.

“And maybe I wanna get to know you outside of calculus tutoring,” Jensen says hesitantly, and maybe a shade nervously. “Not even for… you know, anything. Not makin’ you do anything you don’t want. Just.”

There’s another Jensen sitting in the flatbed. He’s taking up all the space the old Jensen once occupied, and is maybe comprised of the same molecular structure, but this Jensen is different. He’s a little less self-assured and a little more earnest and hopeful. To him, it’s fascinating; Jared wonders just how many Jensens there are out there, and whether he’ll get to know each one.

Jensen checks his watch. “You probably need to get home,” he says. “Friday night—don’t wanna catch yourself in too much trouble.”

“I live a few blocks from here, I can walk,” Jared says as he slides out of the flatbed.

“I can take you home, if you want,” Jensen offers.

That’s really nice of you, Jared thinks, but he keeps his comment to himself, along with the thousand other thoughts jumping around his mind. He gets into the cab, and they’re quiet for the five minutes it takes to drive to Jared’s house.

Jensen’s out of the truck first, and before Jared can register what’s going on, Jensen has the passenger side door opened, a hand outstretched for Jared.

“Uh, thanks,” Jared says kindly, “but I think I can get out of cars—” He trips. Damn shoes.

Jensen chuckles and steadies him. “You were saying?”

“I hate these shoes,” Jared mutters. Then, “Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

Jensen blinks slowly.

“Sorry,” Jared says. “Past five minutes, it’s been on my mind.”

“Oh. Yeah,” Jensen says. “One. Ex. An ex-girlfriend too, in case you were interested.”

Not really. Also, Never, ever trust Chad. “So you’re not, like, playing with my emotions or anything, or trying to manipulate me, ‘cause that would be a dick move.”

Jensen shakes his head sincerely. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m a freshman,” Jared tries. “In case you didn’t know.”

“I’m aware,” Jensen says, eyebrow cocked.

“I can’t dance. Or sing. I like heavy metal and dogs. I joined the chess club. I play Dungeons and Dragons religiously.”

Jensen’s trying not to smile.

“Why me?” Jared asks again. “I mean, out of all the people out there—”

“Because,” Jensen cuts him off, and then doesn’t finish his damn sentence. Just because. Then, soberly, “Do you… like, are you not—”

“I had a crush on you the moment I saw you,” Jared blurts. “But… I mean, I thought it’d never happen. It’s not supposed to.”

Jensen leans against his truck and asks him, “Says who?”

Jared can’t answer that.

Another silence, less awkward and more of something vaguely hope-tinged. “Should I walk you up to your house?” Jensen asks after a beat.

Jared shrugs. “I guess,” he says, and they walk the short concrete path up to his front door.

The lights aren’t on. Jared gets out the spare key and is about to go inside when he turns to Jensen and says, “Hey, can I kiss you goodnight?”

Jensen hesitates visibly. His whole body freezes up and everything. “Um.”

“You weren’t leading me on, right? Just now,” Jared clarifies. “Like… you might be interested. Maybe.”

“Maybe,” Jensen repeats, oddly echo-y.

“So…” Jared says, and steps an inch closer to Jensen. He still looks as attractive as Jared remembers him, seeing him on his first day of high school. But he also looks unsure.

“Hey, Jared, wait,” Jensen says, putting a hand on Jared’s chest—and oh, be still his beating heart!—to stop him. “Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

Jared shakes his head.

“Girlfriend?”

Nope.

“Have you ever—”

Jared rolls his eyes and decides to get a little more proactive. So he kisses Jensen. There are fireflies buzzing around his knees, a car just sped through his sleepy little street, and Jensen tastes faintly of stale waffle cone.

He supposes it’s not a bad kiss. He doesn’t have much to go on, but after a few shellshocked seconds, Jensen’s lips slide into a more comfortable position and Jared tilts his head a little to the right. And it’s nice, really nice; the fireflies have somehow worked their way into his stomach and he feels a little lightheaded, a little special.

Jared pulls away with a small pop. He grins, stupidly and happily.

Jensen blinks and asks, “Was that your first kiss?”

“Yep,” Jared announces proudly.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Jensen says, and he sounds serious. “That was bad.”

“I liked it,” Jared says.

“Oh,” Jensen says, and there’s another pause. “Really?”

Jared nods.

“Huh,” Jensen says.

“Do you wanna come inside for a little while? Not,” Jared hurries to add, “not to do anything, we don’t have to, but. Y’know. Maybe just to talk, watch TV or something.” Get to know each other.

“I have work in the morning,” Jensen says, sincerely apologetic. “But I’m supposed to come over at three anyway, right?”

Jared has never been more glad for calculus in his entire life. “Yeah. So you wanna just stay later? We can get pizza after, or play Nintendo or whatever.”

Jensen nods, and then he smiles, warm and honest, and says, “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He starts to turn around, starts to leave, but then has a change of heart; whatever it was, it involved gently pressing his mouth against Jared’s, tilting his head, kissing Jared of his own volition. His lips part, just enough for a quick—way too quick for Jared’s liking—touch of tongue, and then Jensen’s pulling away and saying, “That’s a bit better.”

Jared’s thoughts need a moment to organize themselves. “It—it is?”

Jensen grins, slow and sexy, and this is the suave, confident Jensen of yore, but underneath that translucent exterior Jared can still see the other layers he’s been exposed to, and all it does is make Jensen that much more fascinating. “Goodnight Jared,” he says, then turns on the heel of his ruby-red Keds and saunters out, gets in his car, waves and drives off into the night.

Jared’s aware he’s smiling like an idiot. Heading inside, he briefly touches his mouth, the very same mouth Jensen last kissed; if possible, he grins even more triumphantly. And this, he thinks, this may have been the Best Night of My Life.

For now.

This happened completely on accident.

Sun, 20 Sep 2009 02:02:04 GMT

the lone abalone (9:46:29 PM): do you think castiel watched veggietales?

the lone abalone (9:46:31 PM): i think he did

the lone abalone (9:46:38 PM): or like

the lone abalone (9:46:42 PM): after he had dean's baby

VFDJ42 (9:46:42 PM): yes, he watched it instead of having sex

the lone abalone (9:46:47 PM): he'd make the kid watch veggietales

the lone abalone (9:46:51 PM): and insist on bringing it to mass every sunday

the lone abalone (9:47:23 PM): because everyone knows kids take their mother's religion and cas would totally be dean's 1950s bitch

the lone abalone (9:47:41 PM): ... omigod you have not corrupted me you have NOT x.x

VFDJ42 (9:47:46 PM): ...do you want to write this or should i?

the lone abalone (9:47:54 PM): lol no i'm just theoretizing

VFDJ42 (9:48:26 PM): cas would bake warm apple pies and leave them on window sills

VFDJ42 (9:48:29 PM): and dean would smoke pipe

the lone abalone (9:49:08 PM): omg stop stop that's hilarious and i will not go over to the dark side

the lone abalone (9:49:20 PM): ... castiel would knit booties

the lone abalone (9:49:56 PM): in pastel colors

VFDJ42 (9:50:42 PM): castiel would like, spy on enighbors

VFDJ42 (9:50:55 PM): and be a gossip whore

the lone abalone (9:51:26 PM): at book club

VFDJ42 (9:51:38 PM): women don't read, idiot

the lone abalone (9:51:49 PM): well no, it's really a gossip circle

VFDJ42 (9:51:49 PM): castiel will get his hair done sometimes, and then cry when dean doesn't notice

the lone abalone (9:53:00 PM): dean will just sit on the couch and turn the pages of his newspaper and arch an eyebrow, and cas's lower lip would wibble and he'd walk away and cry while making meatloaf

VFDJ42 (9:54:38 PM): then cas would be as passive-agressive as he'd dare to get, and dean would try to apologize because he's horny, and cas would be all "NOTHING'S WRONG, OK?" and then they'd escalate and cas would be like "WHY DON'T YOU LOVE ME ANYMORE YOU NEVER TELL ME I'M PRETTY"

the lone abalone (9:55:14 PM): and then dean would be all "honey you're wonderful" and then he'd turn the lights off and they'd have sex missionary position in the dark with no condom because "if a baby happens, a baby happens"

the lone abalone (9:55:48 PM): dean would fall asleep right after, and cas would scoff and say "men" and call sam over for some real backdoor lovin'

the lone abalone (9:56:47 PM): and sam at this point would be that really rugged and dangerous neighbor and he'd fuck cas into oblivion and cas would need a cigarette afterwards

the lone abalone (9:57:03 PM): and then cas would be pregnant WITH SAM'S BABY

VFDJ42 (9:57:12 PM): and then later cas finds out he's preggers but he doesn't know who the father is, and dean's happy and cas is confused about if he should tell or not

the lone abalone (9:57:25 PM): he doesn't tell

the lone abalone (9:57:29 PM): he keeps it a secret forever

the lone abalone (9:57:38 PM): until one day the kid realizes that his uncle is his father

the lone abalone (9:57:41 PM): and his father is his uncle

VFDJ42 (9:57:55 PM): and cas is overprotective the entire life

VFDJ42 (9:58:00 PM): andwhen he realizes this

VFDJ42 (9:58:02 PM): the osn, i mean

VFDJ42 (9:58:05 PM): the son goes swimming

VFDJ42 (9:58:11 PM): and a SEAL BITES HIS HAND OFF

VFDJ42 (9:58:28 PM): and cas goes super overprotective

the lone abalone (9:58:42 PM): i do not know how this turned into arrested development, but i fucking love it

VFDJ42 (9:59:06 PM): cas is super overprotective and his son has an oddly close relationship with his mother

VFDJ42 (9:59:16 PM): and one day dean drops dead of poison but hwo did it, the son or cas

the lone abalone (9:59:27 PM): IT WAS A FAKE

the lone abalone (9:59:28 PM): FAKIN' IT

VFDJ42 (9:59:43 PM): right, he was faking it to run off and live with bobby

the lone abalone (9:59:56 PM): i am updating this to livejournal

During the course of 5.02 "Good God, Y'all!"...

Fri, 18 Sep 2009 03:40:44 GMT

VFDJ42 (9:18:21 PM): WE SHOULD HVE AN SPN FINALE PARTY

the lone abalone (9:18:24 PM): ...

the lone abalone (9:18:25 PM): don't say that

the lone abalone (9:18:30 PM): spn will never have a finale

the lone abalone (9:18:31 PM): ever

the lone abalone (9:18:33 PM): EVER

the lone abalone (9:18:35 PM): DO YOU HEAR ME

VFDJ42 (9:18:36 PM): SEASON

VFDJ42 (9:18:36 PM): FINALE

VFDJ42 (9:18:38 PM): SESON FINALE

the lone abalone (9:18:41 PM): oh okay that's totally cool

VFDJ42 (9:18:57 PM): WE'LL EAT SALT AND FIRE

the lone abalone (9:19:08 PM): wow how would you shit that out

VFDJ42 (9:19:15 PM): AWESOMELY

Now two people are mad at meeeeee!

Thu, 17 Sep 2009 18:45:09 GMT

All right, no, I doubt they're mad at me, but I really wanted to quote AVPM!Voldemort. Who is hot. Mmmhmmmm.

So I got asked out again. Completely randomly, as a matter of fact. But that part comes at the end of the story.

I wanted Papa John's for lunch. See, on Tuesday, on my Collegetown Adventure (which I've yet to finish telling), I spotted a Papa John's, but by then I was already kind of pooped and I had purchased a gallon jug of water and a loaf of French bread (which was delicious) and I had to carry all of that back to my dorm room, which was a good block or two away. Manageable, but somewhat tiring. So I said to myself, Self, I said, I will visit Papa John's on Thursday!

I didn't. Well, I meant to. But on my way there I noticed a cemetery, and I like exploring cemeteries in the afternoon. Although like's not the best word. I'm intrigued, and respectful. So I went to the cemetery. I walked around, thought about all of the dead in there, something about how you don't choose your neighbors in a cemetery (I thought it was profound), cleaned off a few dirty gravestones, wondered, wandered. I can't say I enjoyed the experience like I enjoy chocolate or high-speed rollercoaster rides, but I did appreciate it.

I did end up having pizza for lunch, but it was in Bella, which is a pizza place right across from the cemetery. Also, it's called Bella. Like Bella Swan. I mentally snickered. The guy working there was very friendly. I think it's partially because I'm short and polite. I therefore appear sweet and well-mannered, which isn't very far from the truth. That is one of my public facets. Anyway, the pizza was pretty good--I still think any pizza parlor in Brooklyn is ultimately superior, but that's a prejudice I will not give up. Because it's true. Man I miss New York. Friendly Guy called out to me from the window (I had lunch outside and started rereading Good Omens, which I still can't believe I finished and it's over and I already miss them, dammit) and asked me how I liked the pizza, which I thought was nice of him. I don't know if it's in the job description to do that to new customers, but whatever. Made me smile.

And then I began the walk back to Rowan. Which is where I was asked out, on the street. All I was doing was walking. And listening to my iPod. And maybe smiling at every person I make eye contact with, because I like doing that, and most people smile back, and some people really seem to like it. So a car stops by the curb, and I make my way over because it looks like the guy wants to talk to me and I don't mind helping people out.

He says, "Can I take you out?"

I falter. Um, I think, what? "What?"

He clarifies: "Can I ask you out on a date?"

I again falter. I'm very good at this faltering thing. "Um," I say, "I don't--can I ask why?"

He seems a little confused at this, and maybe a tad hesitant, but he says, "Because I think you're beautiful."

I don't mind compliments. I quite enjoy them. They inflate my ego nicely. But I was walking along the street dressed in my crappy weather black hoodie (seriously, that's what I call it, and it serves me very well in crappy weather), my nicer jeans (because my crappier ones didn't go with my outfit), a white, sparkled tank top obscured by the black hoodie, which was zipped up quite high (in other words, no titties, although when you have 36Cs they're kind of there anyway), and my angry geisha sneakers. They're like Converses, only they're not and they have a rather angry geisha on each shoe. And makeup, which I spent a little bit extra time on because a) it kept Not Working and b) I like making my makeup Work. It's a me thing. Kathleen and I were actually discussing this last night after we had shut the lights off, that and Strega Nona and gingervitis. My roommate is awesome. But back to the point--beautiful? He doesn't even know me. I have personal demons up my sleeve (somewhat literally, if I were wearing sleeves), and... and I don't know. I like knowing someone before I like them. With a few notable exceptions. But anyway, the conversation!

"Um, thank you," I say, "but my dad sort of told me not to accept random dates from strangers." In all honesty, he never said that exactly. I do know it's what he would have said. I'm pretty sure my mom would be apoplectic if I told her that yesterday I had a nice chat with a random black man from Camden. He was very nice, but she'd still freak. Camden and all. My dad would probably advise against me being that friendly to strangers, for I am a tiny eighteen-year-old female who trusts strangers too easily, and I am not effective at using melee weapons. I didn't even have my Swiss Army knife on me. But my dad would probably have advised me to do exactly as I did. My mom too; she said that, when turning a guy down, not to really make it about them. Which is what I did next: "It's not really a good time for me." It's not. Also, I dislike being asked out immediately. I never knew that until recently.

He looks disappoint, and I feel bad. I don't like making people disappoint. So I try to maybe give him some hope. "What's your name?" I ask.

"Brett," says Brett.

"I'm Caroline," I say, and I notice he's wearing a pizza uniform. It's really just a green T-shirt with the name of the company on the left side, but I can't see the logo. "Where do you work?"

Brett works at Little Sicily, which is a pizza place on Main Street. Kathleen knows where it is. "Well," I say, "if I change my mind, and I'm ever at Little Sicily, I'll let you know," and I top it off with a M.A.C.-lipsticked smile.

Brett drives off, and I think to myself, What the fuck just happened?!

I don't need a boyfriend. I don't need much. And now that I've come to realize and accept this, boys ask me out. Well, all right, very technically I've only been asked out twice. Which is still ridiculous compared to my usual batting average, or something, I don't know sports. But let's see: creeper!Josh, who I don't see personally anymore (happily); Patrick, who I'm getting to be friends with and I had to friendzone and I told him this and it's not really awkward but I still feel bad; black!Josh, who told me I was beautiful when he was drunk, but he seemed to know what he was saying, and he did have a condom and insinuate that if I wanted to have sex with him, we could, and is quite nice anyway; and Brett. And then there's just attention anyway: /b/tard!kid; Mike who I think lives in Evergreen and I saw him today and I don't know if he recognized me, but he has my number and not my attention; this guy who was in the pool room at Dave & Buster's who kind of eyed me and I eyed him, just to see if I could, and if it would work, and it did and he leered and I was like Wow, a leering guy, leering is rather sleazy; and Kyle, who I do think is kind of cute and he seems quite dorky but in the cute way and he has nice hands.

You know what I just realized? The above paragraph is nothing but discussion of boys. I feel rather off-put. Meh. I don't need one. More importantly, I don't want just A Boy. I would prefer someone I'm really attracted to, and someone with whom I can be myself around, because if I can't be myself around someone, I simply won't be around. I've spent too much time learning to be myself, and I'm still learning, and I won't have that stifled.

Anyway, I told Kathleen that I was asked out, and she was disappoint. Well, not really; it's more like, I never show interest in going out or partying or finding a boyfriend, and it's not that she thinks it's bad I feel that way, and certainly wouldn't pressure me into anything (well, she has tried to get me to go to a party a few times, including tonight, but I don't do anything Thursday nights that is not SUPERNATURAL), but it's more like, she thinks I should get out there and be dating. Which I'd do. I have proven I don't have problems with finding guys. I just have high standards. Or really specific, random criteria.

Bleeeeeh. I have to study for a quiz tomorrow (four topics from Chapters 1-3 in our American Government class plus a current event, way easy if I'm prepared) and do laundry later. Actually, I should hunt down this laundromat in our building. Or in the Student Center, but that's kind of farther away. I think I'll do Clothes That Can Go In the Dryer today, and figure out how to wash cotton clothes without having to use the dryer another day. That's probably more for the facility down here, so I don't have to lug wet clothes all the way back. Then I can play pool with Heather until at least 8:30, and then SUPERNATURAL

CAS IS ALL "I DID IT FOR YOU" TO DEAN AND I WOULD NOT BE SURPRISED IF HE WANTED TO KISS DEAN

SAM SHOVES DEAN, NONE TOO LIGHTLY

RUFUS AND ELLEN AND JO

SAM IS PROBABLY GOING TO GET BLACK-EYED AGAIN AND BE CORNERED AS A DEMON (I WANT THAT EXPLANATION BAD ESPECIALLY SINCE IN A CLIP FROM THE EPISODE HE WAS SEEN WALKING THROUGH A DEVIL'S TRAP ON THE FLOOR) AND PROBABLY BE TIED DOWN AND WILL HAVE SALT POURED DOWN HIS THROAT AND OMGOMGOMG SAMMY <333

WAR THE HORSEMAN WHO SHOULD'VE BEEN A REDHEADED WOMAN WITH ORANGE EYES BUT WHATEVER, I THINK 5.06 IS THEIR GOOD OMENS REFERENCE EPISODE ANYWAY (SERIOUSLY, ELEVEN-YEAR-OLD KID WHO DOESN'T WANT TO BE THE ANTICHRIST? WHERE HAVE I HEARD THAT ONE BEFORE?)

I CAN'T WAAAAAAAAAIT THIS SHOW IS TOO GOOD TO ME, EVEN IF CAS DOES TRY TO MACK ON DEAN

Blessed.

Wed, 16 Sep 2009 05:24:41 GMT

A nice black man waiting for a bus going back to Camden said this to me today. I'm starting to wonder about it.

The past few days have been odd for their own reasons. Let me start with not last night, but the night before. I had a dream that night. I had had a baby. I was lying down on my bed back home, lazing about, definitely shirtless, and I was holding a baby, a little boy barely weeks old. I knew he was mine, I knew I was this kid's mommy, and it was the strangest feeling ever.

I do not admit to having maternal feelings. To anyone. I have them. I just don't admit to it. I keep that very, very private. It's why I'm against public breastfeeding--I have no problem with nursing, but I think it's an extremely intimate act and I don't want to see other people's intimacy, simply because I don't want to feel like an intruder. I like that intimate acts are private. So I don't let on that yes, I go soft at the sight of really tiny, fat babies, and that I get a little overprotective of small, vulnerable things (which could be an extension of my personality, or of being a big sister, I don't know). I don't even like admitting this to myself. It's seriously private.

So this dream startled me a lot. The baby cuddled up to me and kept smiling, gummy and purely happy, and I was talking to it pretty much how I'd always imagined I'd talk to a baby (like I talk to my dogs, a combination of baby talk and frank speech--I discuss things with my dogs, it's interesting). It talked back, in complete and well-formed sentences, which was the sticking point that I remembered in that dream. I knew that was off. But the entire dream remains...

It was strange, to say the least. Curious, to say a bit more.

Meh. If I have kids, I hope I'd be a good mom. Like, my parents raised me right, and I hope my kids would turn out good too. Not like me, though; I don't know what I'd do if I knew my kids had tried to off themselves. Or used wire hangers.

And then just things today. I was bored, and the power's been flickering on and off, and I wanted to familiarize myself with the area off-campus. So I walked to this "Collegetown" plaza, discovered that a) my debit card (which is really just a banking card, it doesn't have VISA on it or anything; same difference) works at Rite-Aid, Acme and Staples, b) I smile at everyone who passes me by, in the hopes that I will have brightened their day.

And I will write more about today, another day.

Caroline joined the group THAT IS A BOSS ZEFRON POSTER.

Mon, 14 Sep 2009 03:59:35 GMT

I kind of want that exact poster of Zefron for my dorm room. I've never seen any of the HSMs, I've never seen Hairspray, and I don't know Zac Efron from much other than being Zac Efron (and Catherine Earnshaw). And yet I really, really want that damn poster. And I can label it "HORCRUX--DON'T TOUCH" or "BOSS ZEFRON ~~HORCRUX~~ POSTER." I don't think anyone'd get the reference; not many people around here have heard of A Very Potter Musical. Shame.

Heather said I was "such a girl" today. "You're such a girl." I kept reapplying my lipstick tonight, that's why. I spent most of the day with her today. She picked me up at 1:30 to go to her house, where we watched Supernatural, "Nightmare" and "The Benders" (she's getting through the first season--I wish I could professionally get people into Supernatural, I'd love that job). And then her mom drove us to Philadelphia to see this play, Company (not the Sondheim one, this one, based off the short story by Samuel Beckett), for homework--I have to write a review of the acting and experience later tonight, and then retool that work so it fits my Intro to Theatre class--and that in itself was interesting. The audience was blindfolded, led to lay down on a mat, and guided through the play by an angel; we were all an old man, dying and having a final conversation with himself (and that's why I just put on "a Conversation With Death" by Tara VanFlower; it's essentially the same song as "Oh Death" but a little different, more watery and doomed). It was highly interesting; very avant-garde, Theatre of the Absurd.

So we saw that. We both need to see shows for classes, actually, so that's one down. And then her mom took us, her eleven-year-old sister, and her grandmother to Dave & Buster's. I've never been. I know what it is, sure, but I've just never been there.

That in itself was odd. I don't know. We had a booth by ourself, her family in the next one, and yeah, we talked, but there were certain lulls in the conversation where I didn't exactly feel awkward, but a little odd.

I've been having odd thoughts. You know this, but they're odder still. I think the crush is still there--I was sort of pressed up against her when we were watching Supernatural (she's warm. And comfortable despite being kind of pointy. And when I'm tactile, I'm really tactile, but it's not with everyone), and we walked close together, or rather I walked close to her and she didn't seem to mind, and, I don't know. I like her, I guess, and there's the rub. I guess. Do I really like her now? I think I'm starting to get the U-Haul lesbian jokes. I'm impatient and I want to know how I feel about her now. Because, she likes a lot of the things I like, and she likes enough different things to keep it interesting (total Narutard, will always argue with me that Central Jersey doesn't exist whereas I counter that South Jersey is a part of Pennsylvania). She's pretty--I wish she'd let her hair grow out longer, and go back to her natural blonde state, but I can't make her do something she doesn't want to do.

She's too skinny--well, not really, she weighs more than me (she's taller than my poor 5'3" self), but she used to be a dancer, so she has those stick-thin dancer's legs, and she's pointy. Pointy elbows. And she lives at home, so she still doesn't have much in the way of independence. I've gotten my autonomy, got it when I came here, and I take care of myself. My side of the dorm's always quite neat (Kathleen's is a little messy, but not horribly so), I do my homework, I don't drink, smoke, do drugs or party, I shower daily, I still call my parents, and I think I've adjusted pretty well. I take a goddamn daily multivitamin. It's only been two weeks, but I'm doing okay. I can take care of myself. I'm independent in that way.

Heather, I don't know. I've only just realized how annoying it is to have to always check with a parent to do something, instead of just deciding for yourself. I never minded, when I had to, but I was usually sure that I'd get a yes, or that my parents would trust me enough to let me go out on my own. More than ever I'm grateful I had that.

You know what it is? I think I'm impatient. Scratch that, I know I'm impatient (Aries rising = impatient upfront, odd for a patient Taurus), but I think I'm being impatient with my friendship with Heather. Besides wanting her to like me (enough so that we could quite happily browse a sex shop one sunny afternoon), which won't happen because she is quite straight, thankyouverymuch (ffffffffffuuuuuuuu), I just want us to be good friends. Really good friends. And that takes time. And I don't like waiting. I can barely wait a week for Supernatural.

Goddommit. But D&B's was pretty good. I paid for my own meal--Heather said later that night that I was probably the most polite of her friends, I take that as a compliment--teriyaki sirloin cooked rare, very good. And then Heather kicked my ass at every game we played. I lost the game and I lost all the games, but it was all in fun. She can stay late at Rowan Thursday nights, which means we can play pool for free (Rowan After Hours Thurs.-Sat., pool is free) and watch Supernatural.

I have my first Colloquium and Contemporary Mathematics classes tomorrow. Two and a half hours of math, from 6:30 to 9:00 at night. But I don't have classes Tuesday, so it's not bad. And I have Experiencing Acting, Intro. to Theatre and my Stagecraft class got canceled, so that's one less tomorrow. Eh; Monday's still my longest schedule.

And now I have to write a review of Company and shower. In some order.

Only in college?

Sat, 12 Sep 2009 06:29:31 GMT

So I'm reading at my laptop. Roxanne bursts in. None of us have seen her the entire day; we assumed she was asleep. "Where were you today?" I ask.

"I was reading Harry Potter all day," she says. She's completely serious. I crack up laughing.

College is pretty good now. It's like autonomous high school with far less classes but far more serious studies. Dude, I have to actually go see a show for homework. Except there are only six more times available and they're all this weekend. The paper's due the fourteenth. I IMed Heather two hours ago and asked her to come with me (because I don't have ready access to Philadelphia, for I lack a car or a Firebolt), and she said she'd ask her mom. I assume we'd go sometime Sunday.

I want to make out with Heather on my stupidly comfortable bed. :-( *sigh*

But yeah, autonomous high school. The nights are high school-y, in a way, how I'm essentially home every night on my laptop. Except now it's really by choice. See, there's a party pretty much every night, and I am welcome to come to them. I just choose not to. Kathleen went to one last night, and one tonight, so for the second night in a row I have the room to myself. Can't say too much bad about that.

Oh, I sort of ran into Kyle today too! Gina, her friend Lou and I were waiting for Lou's friend to get out of class and meet us for lunch (he didn't show, we went to lunch, it was very enjoyable), and Kyle walked past and so I smiled at him and he waved at me. He's cute. I kinda like him too. I like his personality, he's funny. Also a huge Star Wars dork. D'aww. I'd probably go out with him.

SUPERNATURAL WAS LAST NIGHT.

YOU KNOW THAT FEELING, WHERE YOU'VE JUST FINISHED EXERCISING, AND YOU FEEL REALLY HIGH?

MULTIPLY THAT BY ABOUT FIVE. THAT'S SERIOUSLY HOW I FELT DURING THE PREMIERE. STAGE FOUR STOMACH CANCER WHAT THE FUCK AND BOBBY YELLING AT SAM BUT HE WAS THE DEMONS AND NOW HE'S GONNA BE LIKE HOUSE WITH A LIMP AND DEAN AND SAM ARE PRETTY MUCH BROKEN UP (GET. BACK. TOGETHER. NAO) AND CASTIEL IS FIERCE~ AND THE FANGIRL

THE FUCKING FANGIRL

THE WINCEST FANGIRL

SAMLICKER81

HER BEING ALL ~PISSED AT BEING MOCKED FOR THE WHOLE FANTASY/REALITY BIT AND THEN GOING "I KNEW IT!" WHEN CHUCK TOLD HER IT WAS ALL REAL

BITCH IS MY HERO

GODDAMN THAT SHIT WAS GOOD. Heather was watching it with me, in all its grainy glory because the rain screwed with the better CW channel, whatever I'm still grateful, and she was quite lost the entire time. I lent her S1 and she's around 1.14 or so, so her confusion was understandable. And then we had a slight discussion about shipping when I walked her back to her car (I'm polite, you know). It's nice that she knows what shipping, fandom, and fanfic all are. Gina does too! I told her all about Cassandra Claire today because I saw she had City of Bones in her car. And I also told her to get an LJ because that's where all the hot pr0nz is. Seriously. We both read that. I don't know if she reads NC-17 slash, exactly, but NC-17 something it certainly may be, so.

squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee~

SPN is back. I am happy. I am really, really happy.

Home, home again.

Sat, 05 Sep 2009 19:14:51 GMT

Joanne Shaw Taylor, "Going Home."
Imogen Heap, "First Train Home." Lostprophets, "Last Train Home."
Marc Broussard, "Home."
Garbage, "Happy Home."

I have a good deal of songs mentioning home, and really, none of them beat actually being here.

I went home for the weekend, in case you couldn't tell. Not because I hate Rowan so much that I must spend every weekend possible here, no. I couldn't, anyway, I'm 101 miles away from school and gas is still pricey. But since it's a long weekend, I don't have classes Tuesday, I needed a few things from here, I missed my family including my dogs and my mom's birthday is tomorrow, I went back.

And it's enjoyable, coming back home. My dad and I listened to Alice in Chains on the ride home; I got him for his birthday the Alice in Chains Unplugged CD and he said he'd just started listening to it, and he really liked it. Which was nice, more than nice, it's awesome to finally give back to your dad. I mean, he's introduced me to I'd say a vital percent of what music I listen to--Tori Amos, Depeche Mode, most classic rock, Sade and k.d. lang. So turning the tables a little bit was fulfilling. And Alice in Chains is great anyway.

I don't know, I feel really mellow today. Only mellow's not the right word. Something sadder, maybe. And I don't know why. I'm home, I still have my room (my old room?), my dogs haven't forgotten me, and it's a gorgeous day outside. I don't have anything to do right now except whatever I want.

I don't particularly miss Rowan. Oh, sure, I like it there, and going back the second time won't be horrible at all, because I know I'm going back to my dorm and my roommate and our friends and my friends, and I'm going to pop back into that secluded college bubble, where I'm doing a lot better than I've ever done before. Honestly, I'm still surprised by it. And I feel weird about the entire thing. To go eighteen years without fitting in, only to realize now that I don't want to fit in and in fact quite like being myself, and then to receive attention for it is pretty startling.

I feel fake, sometimes. Now. Not me. And it's odd, because ever since I've got to college, for the most part I've been me. I'm totally open about my love of Tori Amos and Supernatural, reading and not wanting to drink or go to parties. I help console friends who need it--I talked Roxanne through her liking another boy and a few normal self-esteem issues, the kinds all girls have, and she now tacks on "the Shrink" behind my name/nickname (Brook, from Brooklyn, I did a Brooklyn accent for a forgettable reason and it stuck) whenever she needs psychotherapy. Yet I still feel fake. Maybe I just feel unsettled by all of this. By being honest (mostly--I haven't told my friends about my sexuality. If it comes up, yeah, I'll own up to it, I'm not ashamed of whatever I am [just fucking confused], but since it hasn't come up yet it doesn't need to be thrust into the open), I'm finding out that people like me for me. For being confident about myself (usually, I've come a very long way), for a lack of shame, for earned pride and anything else I've struggled hard to learn and accept, I'm being rewarded, I suppose.

It's still so strange. I can never get rid of seeing the ugly fat girl in the mirror who had crushes on the boys in her grade and no chance with them. Or the lesbian desperately in love with her best friend, willing to be treated like dog shit if it meant she'd talk to me more often. Or the cutter, the depressed and suicidal headcase who wrote "DEATH" on her left hand one day and left it there until her parents noticed. Or the very lonely (lonely, independent, they look the same on the outside) little girl who entertained herself. Maybe these demons are smaller than others'--Kayla was molested by her uncle, Ariane was raped, I've never been hospitalized like some I know--but they're still there, and they're so much an important part of me that I can't forget them, or especially what I've learned from them. I survived inner demons, and I'm still here, and I'm happy for myself.

Except other people don't know that. They see the recovery, the healing, but they can't fully experience it as I have, and can't fully understand me, I suppose. Except I feel like that's bullshit, and I hate that lonely path. I had a wonderful childhood, some of my friends haven't, and it doesn't mean I see them as fake for having gotten better. I really need to learn something from that.

Eh. I think once people know me more, I'll stop feeling so false. It takes time, though, and I'm impatient.

In other news, drunk people make for good conversationalists. Kathleen, Rachel, and Kayla went to a party Thursday night and came back around one in the morning, rather buzzed. Kathleen and Rachel had three beers each and Kayla had six shots of vodka plus something else, pot maybe. And they came back to the dorm for a little while with Josh--not creeper!Josh, but Mike's roommate!Josh, or black!Josh, or glasses!Josh, Josh from this point on.

While Kathleen, Rachel and a few others went outside to the meditation hut (really a red gazebo, but Roxanne called it the meditation hut and the name stuck), Josh stayed behind and we talked. Or rather, he talked and I listened, although he did call me out on that. I like listening to other people though. If I have something to say I'll say it, otherwise I'd prefer to listen. He talked about working at Shop Rite and McDonalds, including relaying a very funny story about his last day at McDonalds: there was this lady who always ordered, bitchily and snappily, the same meal every Tuesday and Thursday, a hamburger with pickles, no onions, etc. On his last day, he purposely screws up her order. She comes in to bitch at him, and at the end of a very long and horrible rant she asks him if he has anything to say for himself. He waits a beat, smiles and replies, "Would you like fries with that?"

It was very funny, and he's a very nice person. Quite cute, too, although I'd rather him as a friend. Also a virgin and not into drugs, although he did have a condom on him. And something came up with that (HA HA HA THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID VERY FUNNY); Rachel texted him and asked if he was putting that condom to good use. We laughed a little about that, and he said something about how we should put it to good use (the way he said it wasn't creepy, trust me, it was a hypothetical). We didn't. I'd rather my first time be with someone I loved in the context of a romantic and intimate relationship. Then I'm going to play Poe's "Not a Virgin" and read Outside By the Blue, Blue Moon, which takes its title from that song. Anyway, we talked, we were talking I think about relationships and being virgins, and we discussed Roxanne's roommate Jess. She's getting a nickname--the Whore of Magnolia Hall. Very grand, I think, very commanding and sweeping, like the Whore of Babylon. So I said to Josh, "If you need to get laid that bad, you should go downstairs."

He replied that he had high standards for girls and didn't consider the Whore of Magnolia Hall "beautiful." And then he said that I perfectly fit into his category of "beautiful." Physically, I don't know--I think my sisters and I are all at least above-average (we just have or have had weight problems, but when the weight drops it's rather astounding), which we owe to our parents' genetics. Mom was a model and all, dad wasn't but wasn't a dog. But I think it has so much more to do with personality. I'm surprised by how much personality affects someone, how confidence makes you startlingly pretty and how being a wallflower has fewer perks than advertised. But yeah, I got called beautiful! That's never happened before, excluding my mom and such.

And now I'm back home, rerererereading Sick!Verse (it's my favorite J2 story for a BIG REASON--so well-written, the characterization is superb, the story builds and builds and keeps going, there's closure, and it's so sweet and so angsty that it should please almost anyone), freaking out that a) SUPERNATURAL STARTS THURSDAY and b) OMIGOD THIS SEASON'S TRICKSTER EPISODE IS GOING TO BE THEM IN DIFFERENT TV SHOWS AND I CAN'T FUCKING WAIT OMIGOD THERE'S A SITCOM FILMED BEFORE A LIVE STUDIO AUDIENCE AND I HOPE TO GOD THERE'S GOING TO BE SPN: THE REALITY SHOW OR SPN: ANIME OR SOMETHING, BUT WHATEVER and c) OMIGOD I'M SO EXCITED I HOPE MY ROOM GETS THE CW OTHERWISE I MAY HAVE TO BEG GINA TO LET ME WATCH IT AT HER HOUSE AND I WILL TOTALLY PUT UP WITH THE VAMPIRE DIARIES FOR SUPERNATURAL.

I feel better now. Journals help. :-D

College is not good when you're involved in fandom.

Wed, 02 Sep 2009 04:17:47 GMT

I don't like having a life. Really. I'd much, much rather be doing fandom-related activities. I miss reading fic. I miss stalking my communities. I miss thinking of epic theories. I haven't even thought over any scenes from any of my fics, and I really do want to finish them. And I finally start class tomorrow; my Intro. to Theatre/Dance class is from 9:25 to 10:40 in the morning. And then I have what is almost a straight block of classes--American Government (12:15 to 1:30 PM), Stagecraft (1:45 to 3:00 PM), and Experiencing Acting (3:15 to 4:30 PM). It's not bad, really; two theatre classes? Great, fantastic, especially since I end the day learning how to act. Or learning how to experience it. And I do like history/politics-related subjects. So yeah, my schedule ain't so bad.

I just really, really would love to make more time for myself. Like, in high school, I had forever to myself. I never went out with friends. I went straight home and devoted myself to my shows. Now I go everywhere. It's not terrible; my friends are nice people. But they do enjoy partying. And drinking. I kinda don't. I'd really rather be on LJ.

So yeah, Josh likes me. I don't like him. I like Heather, but I am honestly going to try learning the lesson Alison, Katie and Ariane were supposed to teach me. But I get so confused. For one, take a look at the three subjects I listed. They were all good friends (Katie may have been a surrogate for Alison; we weren't ever the best of best buddies, though we were close, and I needed someone to fixate on, someone I thought wouldn't treat me like shit if I made moon eyes at her every time she walked by) and sexual attraction, if genuine, came after I decided I loved them. Which is why I have to wonder about my sexuality. Am I a genuine bisexual, or a Kinsey 2, or am I just blurring emotional boundaries with friends with whom I want a close, intensely intimate relationship?

But then there are other cases that I'm hesitant to count. Not because I fear them if they're true, but because I don't know how valid they are. There was Sabrina, the girl at PNC Bank who helped me get my debit card. She was Indian and she was really pretty; lovely lush lips, bright smile, bright eyes. Today while walking, I saw this one girl, don't know her name, who had a killer body. Curves like parentheses. And of course Olivia Wilde. But since I've never had a boyfriend or a girlfriend in real life, I don't have much in the way of evidence one way or another. And I know you should know what you are deep down, like how straights know they're straight and gays know they're gay, but I'm so easy to confuse. It's difficult. I don't have anyone to talk to about it, either. I don't want to tell my friends. Not because I think they're homophobic; Roxanne actually said today that she's a Republican who's very pro-gay marriage. I high-fived her for that. But I just don't want that awkwardness. I wouldn't want them to think I would consider them girlfriend-material and I wouldn't want them to freak. And they are nice people, good people, if a teensy bit immature at times.

Eh. I should be honest. If they're true friends they'd stay. I don't know, I just don't like talking about my sexuality with others when I'm not sure of it myself.

I went walking around campus with Heather and her friend Paige today. Paige is a very, very sweet girl, very slight, slim, and loquacious. And so she and Heather pretty much held an entire conversation and I was the fifth wheel following them around. It was odd. I listened in; they've been friends for a while and always meet up whenever they're both on campus (Paige lives in Willow Hall, I live in Magnolia, Heather commutes), so they caught up and I was just there. Heather did sort of apologize when Paige left for class; she said she felt like they were kind of excluding me and sounded apologetic enough.

I did still feel kind of jealous. It's happening again. I know it is. I should write a memoir, How to Like-Like Straight Girls and Other Assorted Fables. I could go on Oprah and share my woeful tales. But I felt jealous of Paige. And I shouldn't! Paige is so nice! Really, she's a total sweetheart! It's just. I wanted time with Heather. She's pretty and she wore a shirt with L from Death Note on it today along with black skinny jeans and black sneakers and she does theatre and she's a natural blonde and she has pretty pretty pretty eyes. And I wanted to talk to her. Even if my conversations sort of consist of me listening and agreeing. I don't know, maybe it's the conversation material? Sometimes that's just how it goes.

So I want Heather. And as I said before, apparently Josh likes me. I don't like him. And I don't mean I hate him, I just don't have any interest in him. There are two, possibly three guys I would consider. One is Eric; he sat next to me randomly during our convocation thing, has nice hair, is kind of stocky, but he does have a really good sense of humor and that's probably my biggest turn-on in a guy. Two is Shaun; he was the cashier at the school bookstore and he is hot. Also, Kayla said he was kind of flirting with me and I really hope she was right about that and I also hope I run into him because he is hot. Three is Andy; Andy's kind of off-limits. Roxanne wants him. She literally has a list of guys that she wrote up on Kathleen's whiteboard, and Andy is tied with another boy, John, for number one. But Andy is also quite hot and he just seems like a really relaxed guy. Also, he lives in Middletown! Middletown is about five minutes away from where I live, so I think we bonded over that. But yeah, off-limits. I don't move in on guys, and certainly not guys other friends may really want.

But Josh texts Roxanne and asks about me. She showed me a message that said, IIRC, "so has she asked about me yet?" It's getting rather weird. Not weird as in you-are-standing-outside-my-dorm-what-the-hell, but just weird as in I would hope he'd give up by now. I already turned down one guy without doing anything except being myself, I'd rather not turn down another.

I have been meeting lots of just really cool, nice guys. Harold and Mike today, poli-sci and physics majors, in Julie's dorm (she's Roxanne's neighbor), who I could really get along with because they're not into drugs or drinking. Mike and Josh (another one and another one), an engineering major and I forget other!Josh's major, who live on my floor; I met them I think when I moved in. And then there's Doobie (Jeremy) and Scott, who I also met today. Doobie is a pretty big pothead. He's also an English major (English Education next year), speaks pretty good German, likes Scrubs and seems quite smart. Sex-obsessed, but what eighteen-year-old guy (or girl--oh just wait) isn't? Scott, don't know his major, but he can beatbox. It's weird; I never really got to talk to guys before. I'd like to have guy friends though. As long as they stay friends. Sometimes I really do just want a friendship. Odd, right?

Roxanne's neighbor is a sex-obsessed girl. She was rather drunk tonight, and she was pre-pre-gaming. She's slept with I think four guys in two days. Yeah. Very funny drunk, though, quite amusing to see her grinding a tall fan and scream-singing LET'S GET FUCKED UP~

Eh. I kind of don't want to go to any parties. If I had the choice of a party or 1000 words guaranteed in any fic I'm writing, I'd go with the word count. I don't know. Maybe I'll pop in on a smaller one to observe and quickly leave soon after. They just unnerve me and scare me a bit. Okay, more than a bit. I don't trust them, those people who frequent parties. But that's just me.

ALSO I WANTED TO TALK ABOUT THIS PRESENTATION ON SUNDAY. This guy, Dr. Mikey Fowlin, gave a presentation called "You Don't Know Me Until You Know Me," all about diversity. Except, the guy's an actor, and he can do voices for his characters. So he did: a deep-voiced, gay, black, talented football player who self-injured; a goth/emo, white, Jewish kid; a Puerto Rican/Korean (I think), fat, smart girl; and a guy with cerebral palsy and a wicked sense of humor. Thing is, I could honestly relate. Let's see: queer, self-injury, goth, fat, smart and a good sense of humor. I've been all of those. I will always in spirit and memory be all of those. So yeah, I loved the presentation. I went up to Dr. Mikey afterward and said I thought his presentation was "beautiful" and I really, really loved it and it touched me, and he honestly looked like he cared and he gave me a hug. I loved it.

Josh sat next to me for that. He asked me what I thought of the presentation, and I told him I loved it. He said it was "all right" and he couldn't really relate. I understand if you can't relate, and I guess I'm being a little close-minded in not liking when other people don't relate to experiences I've had, but he just didn't seem enthusiastic about it. He doesn't seem enthusiastic about much. I like enthusiasm. I love enthusiasm. I'm passionate about quite a few things I like (SUPERNATURAL). So when other people don't have passion, it's a turn-off. And if he were to adopt false passion merely to please or impress me, I wouldn't be, because I don't like chicanery.

I like Shaun. And Heather. I like them. And Andy, he's cool. He'd be a good guy friend, actually. I hope we do get to be friends.

I have class tomorrow. I want to take a shower and then maybe catch up on ONTD or read a little fic before bed. Because I have a 9:25 class tomorrow and I want to maybe, I don't know, find some time for goddamn food. I swear, I have been horrible to myself. I just don't go to eat. I think it's also scheduling eating times with friends, but I get hungry. I may bring food from home, I don't know.

Man. Taking care of yourself is hard. Although I am getting into the habit of taking a daily multivitamin. So even if I'm not eating properly, I'm still getting nutrients. Mmm. Vitamins. Buffy reference, Glory drinking a mimosa. Funny thing is, one of the residence halls is named Mimosa. Odd, I thought.

I like it here, but I miss home. I miss my family and I miss my dogs. And I miss just being able to laze around in bed all day, going online, and getting a homecooked meal (whoever said you'd miss homecooked food was right; I called my dad earlier tonight and told him that I wanted prime rib when I came home on Friday) and having laundry done for you. I still haven't done my laundry. I don't really need to right now, I have clothes, and I actually have to get more clothes from home (pajama pants, workout pants, shorts, my sneakers), but I don't know how. I'll ask my mom to teach me when I go home. Also, my mom's birthday is Sunday, so being home for that will be nice.

And I can go see Extract, and my dad's getting me Supernatural Season 4 on DVD. :-D I really do love my family. I don't want to rebel against them. I hope that doesn't change.

We'll see how brave you are.

Mon, 31 Aug 2009 07:35:24 GMT

College is... oh.

Not in the big "OH! This is what everyone's been talking about," or "Oh, I don't really like this much at all, thanks," but oh as in "Oh. This is what it's like. This is different, and I have had jitterbugs with epilepsy and some smooth, creamy, excited-feeling bug hopping around in my stomach simultaneously. And yes, I wish things were back to the way they used to be, but that's until I adjust to the change. Until then, this will be easy and this will be difficult."

Friends

It's amazing. When you're alone in your dorm room, and your parents have just left the college campus, and you're staring around at your recently-unpacked stuff and realizing that your mom and your dad can't come bring you back home, you feel like you want to cry. When you're hanging out with four other girls, when you are one of the accepted folk, when you are making nice and being nice and feeling nice and good and talking with no abandon, you feel like you're hosting a major sleepover with your friends. But it still feels like a sleepover, and I still sort of feel like I'm going home soon. I may go home over Labor Day weekend to pick up a few things (glasses, razor handle, a coaxial cable for the TV I brought to my dorm, a better air conditioner).

New cast members:

Kathleen: roommate, nice. Business/Accounting. Probably likes to party/drink, has a boyfriend but they're on a break, sort of, is not a virgin. Has seen Arrested Development. Boy-crazy. Will still make a good roommate.

Kayla: neighbor, Michelle's roommate. History/Secondary Education. seems genuinely very nice. Has a sense of humor that is not the exact same as mine, but responds very well to it.

Michelle: neighbor, Kayla's roommate. Psych. Reminds me of myself when I was a few years younger--quieter, observing, following along. Intelligent. Good conversationalist.

Roxanne: lives on the floor below mine, Special Education/Spanish. VERY BOISTEROUS. Calls me Brook, short for Brooklyn, because I can put on a damn decent Brooklyn accent.

Melissa: commuter, forget her major. Very bright red hair, pretty. Nice girl.

Amanda: commuter, forget her major. Really pretty, you can tell she has Italian in her. Also a really sweet girl.

Boys

If you've read any part of my journal, you know there's a real human in here. I am a devoted Supernatural fangirl. I adore slash. I write fanfiction. I know many many pieces of trivia and I happily dispense with the information. I like to spend money on other people and I don't really care to be paid back in kind. To me, I am always going to be the Fat Girl, the Cutter, the Bulimic, the Goth, the Smart Girl, the Girl With Acne, the Girl Who May Have Been a Dyke, the Girl Who Likes Strange Things; I don't hate those incarnations of myself and in fact value what I've learned from it and who they've made me out to be. I'm probably a Kinsey 2; while I'm tempted to say I have troubles with emotional boundaries when it comes to certain friends, I'm not sure it's all that at other times.

Add this to the list: I also don't really like being hit on.

For the very first time ever, I was sort of asked out by a guy. Patrick. Heather and I were talking to him and since he knew enough of his geek trivia (and is a Supernatural fan, for me, and just went along with our jokes for Heather and me), he hung out with us today. So it was just the three of us wandering around campus for a while. Then we went to see a hypnotist perform (it was probably staged, but very interesting and funny nonetheless), and then instead of just Patrick and I catching the shuttle, Heather drove us to Wal-Mart so I could pick up a few things.

Look. I can tell when a guy is interested in me. It's not because it happens so much that I know the signs, it's because I'm usually able to suss out why someone is talking to me. That's happened often enough. And he was showing signs: semi-shy compliments throughout the day (why not Heather? Heather's pretty) and then, as he's walking me back to my dorm (because it was suggested last night that guys should walk girls back to dorms, because it wouldn't be safe for a girl to walk alone at night; I agree because I know I really can't physically defend myself and appear quite vulnerable and easy prey, so someone else there is comforting in that sense), he says "casually,"

"So, a nice girl like you must have a boyfriend."

Do you know I've never had that line used on me. I've never heard a pick-up line. I don't go to parties, I don't drink, I don't do drugs, I have no interest. I'm not entirely boy-crazy. I've never had a boyfriend. I'm a virgin (if a little ~~HA HA HA OH GOD I HOPE I FIND TIME TO MYSELF~~ self-play doesn't count). So that's the first time it's ever happened.

I turned him down. Partially on looks: moderately attractive, nothing too special, not what I'd go for. Partially on personality: seems a little too malleable, too nice to my jokes. It could've been the possible infatuation that was making him kind of want to be very nice to me, but I don't know. Partially on timing: second day at college. Second. Day. At. College. Just moved into a dorm, still finding friends, haven't even started classes yet. I have other things to work on (fanfiction: he reads fanfic, though, which was cool. And he didn't seem totally freaked when I mentioned Sam/Dean, he just was like, "But that's also incest" and then the hypnotist started), and I also don't really want a boyfriend now. Not him. Guy friend, sure. I could use a few guy friends.

I friendzoned him. And I said I was sorry for friendzoning him, since the concept had been brought up and discussed earlier. He acted okay with it. I don't think he really was; I doubt he skipped back to his dorm. But I still feel bad. Oh, and I pretty much told him everything that had been running in my head. I even said I was potentially bisexual. His eyes kind of widened at that; he didn't care, exactly, but he may have been surprised. And he said that guys liked that. I know. I don't care.

I have got to shut up sometimes. But when you don't have an outlet and you have a lot of thoughts, the first available ear will do. But I wish I hadn't said the bisexual thing. Not because, if I am bisexual, or a Kinsey 2, or in some way, shape or form queer-as-in-not-totally-heterosexual, I would be ashamed (maybe, hopefully not? Lot of issues on all of this), but because I don't think it needs to be brought up. Like how I don't need to tell people that I was suicidal in the seventh grade; if it's an issue that isn't related to the topic at hand, and if it doesn't need to be spoken about, I don't want to mention it. I want to keep it to myself. Especially if I'm undecided on it.

Must shut up. Learn that at college, dear.

Wanna know what's worse?

Three. Other. Fucking. Guys.

You know, when I had crushes on the boys in my school in Oak Hill, I wished I was one of the popular girls. I wanted to be noticed by boys. Specifically, the ones I liked, but I may have taken any old attention. Now I don't want it. You get something you wanted, you find out you don't like it. Truth.

The three other fucking guys: One's a damn /b/tard. If we can be friends, okay, fine. Kathleen, Kayla, Roxanne and Michelle kind of think he's a creeper, and I get why, but I also know what /b/tards are generally like (or the common types, anyway--I don't fit the stereotype, my fifteen-year-old sister, bless her, doesn't fit the stereotype, etc.), so there's that. But he asks for my number, I give it to him (please someone convince me not to do that, it's a bad bad bad bad bad idea and I already regret it), and then later he texts me and it starts out like, "hey sexy whatre you doing? must be more fun than me with my shitty boot on" (broken ankle, maybe).

Sexy? Sexy.

You know which guys can call me sexy?

None.

I don't care if you think I look cute. I do take some time to look good, and I want to look good because I feel like I accomplished turning myself into something I will like looking at time after time, and I can take pride in my handiwork. It's more craftsmanship and experimenting than wanting to look hot for boys.

... maybe that's a lie? Maybe I sound like a pompous college freshman, full of Ideas and Beliefs and Wymynhood! and R-E-S-P-E-C-T, but I didn't like the comment. I didn't.

He did hate Twilight (are you surprised? A guy who hates Twilight?), and we talked a bit about that. I still sort of feel like I don't like Twilight based on the way it's written and the stylistic errors I felt Smeyer made. And he texted his friend saying he had found a girl who hated Twilight. And I, big mouth that I am, said there were more like us, to give him hope. Honestly, I must shut my mouth.

Guy two is actually rather cute in a way. Mike. Curly hair--Jewfro? Could be. We sat on the bus to this bowling thing last night that was quite boring, but I met Roxanne there, so then it was just being bombarded with rambunctiousness. And we talked about music. I had on a Pink Floyd shirt yesterday, and he noticed and of course, because he is a teenage boy, he likes Pink Floyd. So we got to talking about bands like that, mostly some metal and classic rock. I did say I liked Madonna. And I do. I love Borderline.

So he sort of tagged along with our little group that night, for a while; he sat by me at this lecture on relationships last night and laughed when I mentioned Pokémon and Portal. So we would have those types of things in common--interests you expect guys to have and don't expect girls to have. Incorrect, mostly, but. So we left that, and he went back to his dorm and he said that he would teach me the beginning of "Enter Sandman" on the guitar and also would have someone with whom to play Guitar Hero. Because I like Guitar Hero.

He was okay. There's the obvious awkwardness that happens whenever two people first talk and use music as the starting point, but I didn't feel weirded out, skeeved out, or threatened by him. It was more like he was like, Hey, a girl with my interests! And she's a girl, wow, that's really cool. Maybe I should try to make something more out of it than just friends.

I'm realizing I'm turning into That Girl. The one who is displeased with male attention and wants to be respected as a woman and just wants guys to be her friends but guys probably want to date her instead and really, I don't want to. Right now I'm scared. I haven't had enough time to process everything. Scared a lot.

But yeah, okay. The third guy. He's starting to skeeve me out a little bit. He's not, like, leering or anything (he does that, I am telling the rest of the girls and asking us to try and blacklist him. Maybe), but. We ran into him, name Josh, yesterday at one in the morning thanks to Roxanne's harmonica (she tried to use it as a lure for boys. We were walking by Josh and his roommate Zack/h and she says to him, 'Wouldn't you want a girl who was a musician?' after sort of alerting them to our presence by playing the harmonica badly), and he tagged along with us. Movies got brought up in the cafeteria as we sat around eating ice cream and eggs (not together) and I mentioned that I wanted to go see Extract. Mike Judge, Jason Bateman, Mila Kunis and J.K. Simmons? WAAAAAAAANT. ANOTHER MIKE JUDGE FILM, YES!!! And I said as much because I loved Office Space and Idiocracy. And those two movies got his attention, because he'd seen them both and liked them.

So our little girl group and I head back to our dorm, which is Magnolia. I think Josh and Zack/h are in WIllow. Or Chestnut. Don't really care. Anyway, Michelle gets a text (she had friended Josh on Facebook earlier) and comes to Kathleen's and my room and says to me, "Oh, by the way, Josh texted me and said he thought you were cute."

I did sort of act happily and be like, I've never gotten that sort of a compliment before, ever! I haven't. And I suppose as compliments go, I shouldn't feel so pissy or weirded out, because he wasn't leering. He was being kind of nice.

But tagging around the earlier half of today? I don't know. I trust my gut instinct and my gut was saying Bad Things. Well, not Bad. More like, You're Not Gonna Like This. I don't know, he seemed... boring? He asked what movies I liked and later, what music.

Is that how all dating starts out? Because my idealized version is this: two people, friends for a lifetime, realize they're something more and that it's meant to be. Think Jared and Jensen in certain RPS stories. I love stories like that! I know, I should learn to separate better fantasy from reality, that reality is essentially what fantasy isn't, but I don't want reality. I want my fantasy. I want it to manifest perfectly. it may not, it's fantasy and for fantasy to become reality, would reality become fantasy (oh shit, I'm going to give myself a headache with this semi-self-pretentious douchiness), but.

I'd really rather date Heather. So so much. I bought her an AC/DC sweatshirt at Wal-Mart. It was under $20, I had money with me, and AC/DC is her favorite band. She pointed it out, and I told her to get it. And I said in the car (her car is named Bonnie, it's a '97 Bonneville) as much. It was more like this:

"You didn't have to get me this," she said.

"I know," I said, "but I wanted to."

And she smiled. She has a really sweet smile, don't you know.

She wore lime green jeans and a Wicked t-shirt. Really, how awesome is that. And on the ride back to Rowan we sang along to "What Is This Feeling?" with her taking Elphaba's lines and me singing Galinda's. And we were very good. And she said, "I've found the Galinda to my Elphaba!"

In Wicked: The Life and Times of the WIcked Witch of the West, Elphaba and Gailnda have to share a bed on their ride to the Emerald City. The author inserts sexual tension into the scene, on Galinda's part. So.

I do have more to talk about. But I have to go to bed now.

Because I am bored. Also, my stomach's in knots over college, so a WIP meme might cheer me up.

Sat, 29 Aug 2009 05:18:28 GMT

Posting sentences* from my WIPs should always cheer me up. Or remind me that I should get. to. work. I did do a little bit of work on one, but it's now only about 1000 words in. Pitiful, I know.

There’s a little thing alive inside him, it kicked, and he can’t tell Dean because Sam did something really stupid.

“If you stuck a portal at the bottom of the pit,” Sam says, “and we jumped through it and out the ceiling… no,” he decides, “wouldn’t get us through the particle field.”

While Jared cannot argue with the Sliding Scale of High School Dance Importance, he scoffs. “I’m not going.”

They should do it now, before they sleep, but Sam’s too tempted to kiss Dean’s half-mast eyelids, his unsmile and curved cupid’s bow, and then sleep away his fatigue.

“Madonna, dude. Madonna. I am not sitting through one hour of the goddamn cone-bra’d Material Girl for you. No way.”

“No, Dean,” Sam said, feeling a thousand years old and none the wiser. “I’m cursed. There’s no going back, there’s no getting rid of it. It’s as much a part of me as,” you are, “anything else. I saw a way to make it good. So I did. I tried.” He looked up, defiant. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

And what sucks is, reading through these I'm like, Okay, keep going! MOAR! You have these scenes in your head, write them! Except I freeze up. It sucks. Oh well. Maybe college will leave me with little to do on the weekends and so, instead of socializing properly, I can work on fanfiction. Right? Right.

I don't know. I know that much.

*I also don't know what ONE sentence means. :-P

COLLEGE. STOP BEING SO COLLEGIATE.

Fri, 28 Aug 2009 04:00:35 GMT

SERIOUSLY. NERVES ON YOU GETTING MY ARE.

And it's not even the whole ~ooh leaving home for the first time, going places and getting to meet new people~ but that's certainly a part of it. It's getting all of my stuff together. I have to somehow figure out money (I have a banking card now, but it is currently barren and desolate), textbooks (JFC. Okay, my schedule has like, two legitimate classes and the rest are fun theatre things. The hell), finding where I'm supposed to go for classes anyway, making sure my sheets fit my bed (apparently I need twin XL, as twin sheets are a long shot, but almost every store I've been to does not HAVE regular twin sheets and I kinda like the twin sheets I've got as they are soft and I like soft), making sure my roommate doesn't have a problem with me requiring the TV for one hour every Thursday night (I don't watch that much TV that airs now, but for Supernatural? Bitch, if I'm bringing the damn TV, I get that concession, capisce?), PACKING, and all that shit. Oh, and I want to see Gina and Heather again. I have my American Govt. class with Gina, so I should see her, but Heather I really want to see again. Since we're both Theatre majors in part, I think this is doable.

UGH.

Last day of real, honest freedom and what? I'm annoyed? Typical. But I'll smile and be totally friendly and all of that. Really, I just want Heather to show me around and take me places. She said she would on Facebook. Legit promise right there.

*head, smashing facefirst into a pillow that I will bring to college too* God. I have to take down my posters and corral at least half of my makeup together and unplug my lamp and my external hard drive and update my laptop so it has more memory and a renewed antivirus program and not forget any important wires and also not forget my perfume. And also maybe go find twin XL bedsheets tomorrow. JFC.

In other news, I finally found black jeans. Also, I have shoes that look a little like black Converse, but they're not and they have a rather angry geisha on them. I thought they were interesting.