She will now answer ONLY to the symbol #. [entries|friends|calendar] The ONE. The ONLY. The -- oops, it's just Kylene. [ website | The Last Cetra ] [ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ] [ calendar | livejournal calendar ]

MORE PAINT! [02 Feb 2005|02:21pm] [ mood | creative ] The things I create in Paint = my extreme boredom. But seriously. It has a moral, see? 2 comments|post comment

Things that go bump in the day. [29 Jan 2005|01:17pm] [ mood | silly ] Everything is frosted outside, today. Like God took a handful of powdered sugar and deposited it gently upon our lawn. And glazed over the roads as well. The roads are so icy that when I called Ruby Tuesday to see when my shift was, Brian informed me that we're closed for business today! Woo-hoo! So I get a free day off. A snow day from work -- yesssss. And again I say, yessss. We have twelve or more robins in the tree in the front yard. This is odd. I don't understand why they've chosen our tween tree to chill in. It's not too big yet, and right now its branches aren't anything more but a kiddie playground for these high flyers. They're sort of hyperactive though, I'm watching them now, and they're all chirping to one another and fluttering from branch to branch like some kind of coked up bird game. One robin flew into the window about a minute or so ago. Scared the piss out of me. I look up and there's this thunk, and this mild fluttering of wings, and then the robin, dazed, but trying to recover, swooped away. I bet his friends laughed for hours. I bet they're still laughing. Speaking of thunks -- Ali made a mad dash for her kitchen yesterday inbetween commercial breaks of the O.C. and knocked right into her trash can, spilling herself and the contents all over her kitchen floor. It was so freaking funny. One second she's running to the kitchen, shoulders hunched all Napoleoned over, the next second, she's lying on the floor, clutching her knee, and moaning amongst the trash. I couldn't stop laughing. Seriously. Speaking of laughing -- MarTina called me last night. I mean Tina. :P Tina on Martinis. You're the best, dude. 4 comments|post comment

Props to Sarah. [19 Jan 2005|08:30pm] [ mood | stunned ] http://www.squizzle.com/movieview.asp?id=67 This. Is. AMAZING. 4 comments|post comment

[19 Jan 2005|07:57pm] [ mood | creative ] Paint is so fucking theraputic. 3 comments|post comment

[19 Jan 2005|03:38pm] [ mood | curious ] How come music manages to make so much sense when words can't explain things anymore? It explains things on such a different level, deeper than the lyrics. You can hear the pain in someone's guitar stings or the faint bellow of hurt vibrating off of a violin string. I think at important events, like weddings and funerals...words should be optional. I think you could tell stories entirely through music, and sometimes it means more that way, when you don't say a word. Silence is a web, it can spin two people in a little cocoon. It can be magical. I am a cast, waiting to be full, waiting to crack open and reveal the completed inside. Waiting to astonish. We are all getting older. I'll be twenty in a few months. My God, twenty years old. I think back to that painfully skinny fourteen year old with the cowlicked bangs, Blaze-n-Flaming it with Sarah, writing We-Hate-Men notes with Tina, video gaming it with Danny, and it's crazy to compare the two pictures in my mind. All awkwardness and braces, waiting to mature. Riding the bus seat, with my back to the window. Trees passing by. Time, too. Sometimes I just want to say nothing at all and let the rest of the world revolve around me. Like I'm the tack that a spinner rests on. Where the world is spinning so blurrily around you, so fast, you're afraid to catch on to someone's coattails, and go flying. But sometimes the flying is better than where you land. I hope I never get scared to let go. My throat is a bit parched. I want to sip some champagne. Or wine. Feel sophisticated today. I feel old. Little kids call me "ma'am." That's a sign of age, you know it is. I will hide it underneath my overly perky blond streaks. I'm a Toys R Us kid -- don't make me grow up. Muse, muse, musing. It's not amuse, 'muse, amusing. Winter is an angry time of the year. I always feel like the sky is ready to revolt at any minute. It feels like our part of the earth is depressed. The trees are naked and the grass is encased in frost, and people walk so briskly with their heads down like they're enduring a hailstorm. If you talk to somebody outside, their response is rapid, brief -- they barely respond. Or if they stop, they respond quickly, bouncing up and down on the balls of their feet to keep warm. I have lots of wonderings. I want to toast somebody. Wouldn't that be nice? I haven't toasted anyone in a long time. Getting toasted is another story. Why do people say that? It always gives me the mental image of somebody sticking their hand into a toaster and yelling, "GET 'ER DONE!" post comment

I'll stop cam-whoring after this one, I swear. [18 Jan 2005|01:07pm] [ mood | bleh ] ( A much-needed pick-me-up. ) 4 comments|post comment

There must be more than this provencial life, says Belle. [17 Jan 2005|05:17pm] [ mood | smarky ] 5 comments|post comment

[16 Jan 2005|08:20pm] [ mood | thoughtful ] Why do they call people who pass away "late?" Like "my late wife?" Like you've been waiting for them for five hours to come pick you up from the grocery store and somebody asks you where your ride is and you say irritatedly, "Late." People who die aren't late. For anyone who's ever been loved, they are too early. 3 comments|post comment

[11 Jan 2005|04:55pm] [ mood | hmm ] Here's a little story just to show you how vivid my imagination is/was. As a kid my imagination was even bigger because I didn't know the world had Limits to it. I thought you could walk into a unicorn on a field, right smack into it, I thought you could meet and greet ghosts, flying on brooms, conjur up genies and run fast as cheetahs whenever you wanted. I read so much my brain disbelieved in so little. I used to ride beside this girl, Amanda, on the bus. At least I think that was her name. She was an older kid, with long red hair and freckles. She was in fifth grade and I was just into first. She was nice to me. Never talked down to me. But kids are kids and one day she drew this face on the fog of the bus window. It was of a boy with big ears. I giggled because I thought it was funny, but then she drew his nose and told me he had boogers. I imagined boogers from other people, especially boys, were more vile than boogers from girls. They were slimey, horrible, snotty things, just drenched in yellow liquid, stinking and rotting pus bags. I imagined all this as she was talking and drew boogers coming out of his nose. This bright, vivid image then crossed my six year old mind, took hold of my eyes, wrapped itself around then and then reached deep down into my stomach and pulled out my guts. I threw up just as we were reaching the school. Amanda gave me this look then that I remember. Half-piteous - feeling sorry and embarassed for me, and half amazed, like she was shocked I had that much imagination. I couldn't help it. I couldn't help imagining things. I was always writing stuff, too, on this old word processor dad got me. He saved some of my old stuff. You should see the stories I churned out when I was six. "Kylene Cepeda was sitting in the living room when a ghost appeared." I even drew crayoned drawings to it. I was gonna be a writer. I think stories just appeared in my head and I had to write them down or they wouldn't leave. I hate being wrong but sometimes, the most horrible times of all, I hate being right. I'll tell you the secret in life to being happy: Be a man. Why? Case in point: Guy and girl meet. Go on a date. Guy doesn't call for three days. Woman thinks: "Oh god oh god I said something wrong, he didn't think I was pretty enough, he's not serious about me, and I KNEW I was talking too much when my lobster arrived, maybe it was because I ordered lobster and it was so expensive, he just thinks I'm high maintenance, but I'm not, I'm really not, and anyway he didn't seem like he thought it was a big deal, I mean, he did say he was surprised that I could eat that much and oh my GOD he thinks I'm fat! He's not calling because he thinks I'm a fat ass! AM I a fat ass? Oh my god, my thighs are pretty big, and I AM having trouble fitting into my favorite jeans. OH GOD, NOBODY LOVES ME BECAUSE I'M A HORRIBLE FAT ASS. Girl doesn't call for three days." Guy thinks: "Sucks. Gotta get a beer." Guy gets girl pregnant. Girl thinks: "My life is ruined. Oh my god, my life is ruined." Guy thinks: "Huh. I thought Trojans were tested nine times." Be a man. It's the only way to be. There is the possibility of sadness in the dephs of one of her happiest emotions - love. You can love somebody and be prepared to hurt. I don't think that's fair. There's no possibility in the happiness in being depressed. Either you're depressed or you're happy. You can't be in both. You can be in love, and hurt at the same time. But you can't feel happiness, true happiness when you're depressed. Both are states of mind at opposite polars a big emotional continent. I was watching Conan O Brien last night when it occurred to me - I don't know who half the people in Hollywood are. I can name off anyone in US or People or tabloids, but as for the B stars or the older generation of actors and actresses, I can't identify the shit out of them. Rob Lowe was a guest on the show, and I'd heard of him before but never saw his face and it occured to me. I could have stood right beisde this man in a grocery store, never knowing it was him. I bet I've stood beside, passed by hundreds of celebrities who I don't even recognize because I don't know who they are. Which I guess doesn't make them a celebrity to me if I don't know they are. Tree falling in the forest and all that. Is a celebrity still a celebrity if you don't know the are? Which came first - Michael Jackson's molestations, or creation? It would be some shit to be a baby chick and get hatched out of an egg. Imagine coming to and you're curled up real tight, dripping and cold as fuck, when you realize you're completely surrounded by this white exterior with a sort of gooey inner layer. You shriek, but nobody responds. You roll back and forth and this thing rocks on its base. There's only one thing to do. Wait. You go mad with waiting and begin smashing your face against the hard exterior again and again and again. Again until there's a small chip and you see sunlight. Again until the small chip becomes a big crack and slam your face again and again until the egg is broken away and there you are, wet and gooey, brought to life. All human babies have to do is hope to god that they don't come to while they're squeezing out their mother's vaginas. Eugh eugh eugh. Mother's vaginas. What a horrible mental image. If there was a choice between being forced to see a slide show of my mother's vagina or eating fifteen raw pigs with Texas Pete hot sauce, I'd grab me some Tums and get my pork on. I never ever want to see my parents doing anything sexual, EVER. Parents should be asexual creatures. They should speak of you as if THEY never conceived you, talking gently and around the pronoun "we", as if you still believed in the stork. They should never tell you drunken stories about that night or how "wasted" they got after however many margaritas. You don't wanna know. You don't wanna see. Plants are the most awesome of the Asexual. I had this spider plant when I was a kid that was just crazy. The leaves on it clustered together like spiders, all over the damn thing. And it grew like it was a chia pet, on fire. I grew that thing in class, then took it home and grew it until it drove my mom crazy and she had to put it in a hanging plant on the front porch. Eventually we had to move and I had to give up spidey to my best friend's mom. It saddened me. I wanted to see how big it could get. I'd bet you could weave a rope out of it. And climb into wherever. Or forever. post comment

[11 Jan 2005|04:16pm] [ mood | cheery ] I close my eyes and oddly enough, see what looks like a block figure of a woman in a purple Olympic outfit, running down the track. She leaps and her legs swing out in opposite direction beneath her -- she's going to clear the hurdle with ease. And then the image just freezes there and my brain circles around it, like she's just some three-dee of somebody's fucked up Richard Simmons version of the Matrix. Don't ask me what that's even supposed to mean. I just report it. I haven't had cookie pizza, remarkably -- no ricidulously good -- in a long time. I used to get it off the pizza buffet line at this little place Dad took me to in Mississippi. They managed to rustle up some pretty decent taco pizza, too, and taco pizza and I are touch and go in our affection for one another. It depends on the kind of salsa used and the amount of lettuce and cheese it contained. But man, this place had premium everything. I could HEAR my stomach doing the Jessica Simpson impression of, "Is it a taco? Or is it a pizza? Is it a taco? Or is it a pizza?" And I could hear Ashlee saying, "It's BOTH, Jess," with a laugh, her lips just the tiniest bit off beat to her words. That girl makes me laugh. I used to enjoy her, or at least hold her in higher regard to her sibling, but that SNL piece she did is just some shiznit. I wonder what was going through her mind. "Fuck" was probably part of it. Why would you want to be headlined as something you're not even GOOD at? That'd be like me becoming famous for plumbing. Or Britney Spears being famous for being a pop star. I could just see me on SNL crouched beside a toilet, holding a plunger in my hand, taking Q@A from the audience, and responding with my lips not in sync with my words. And above, Bob Villa would be crouched in the catwalk, responding to question's I'd taken with an unnaturally perfected falsetto. For men. pour hommes That's what it says on the deoderant stick sitting next to me. "For men." Men just sounds so much more agreeable than a "hommes." Hommes is obviously a cynical tiger who hangs out with a smarky six year old, time traveling occasionally, sometimes using typical sarcastic, overbearing, pretentious one-liners. I wouldn't want to date a hommes. Isn't it weird how names can make you think of somebody, before you've never even met them? Ralph is a guy who bowls - he has a potbelly. Edwina has cat-eye glasses, a parrot named "Snarks", and a 54th birthday coming up. Jackie is a scary ninth grader, with light brown hair and a bit of down syndrome. Hank is a football player, a thick farmer, or the janitor. Jeeves is a butler. Melvin gets beat up and is frail, with a clogged nose. Bertha is overweight and raises milk cows. Betty Lou wears a checkered tie-in-front bra and jean shorts to school. Sam is an honest man. Mr. Ovalstine owns a graveyard, works the graveyard shift, and drinks chocolate milk. Larry is a dishonest, lying man. Probably a politician. Character study! Old man in a Subway is chilling, eating a sub alone at one of those scary yellow tables. Girl walks in, she's pregnant. Man eating the sandwich watches her order and scramble in her purse to pay her bill. Girl clearly doesn't have enough; embarrassed. Old man gets up and chivalriously pays it for her, invites her to sit down, she does. Get to talking. Girl starts in on her sob story - single mother, had to quit school. Blames it on her ex. Says bitterly, "And it all started with a crush." Close in on the old man saying, "If it were supposed to feel good, they wouldn't call it a crush." Stole that quote from Anonymous. Sorry, Anonymous. But you have a lot of stuff already attributed to in your name. Wot wot. God, I wish I had an accent. Why the fuck can't I have an interesting accent? I would talk all the time, just to hear myself speaking. "We are deFEATed!" British. "We ahrre defeeated!" Irish. "Aye, we're deFEATed!" Scottish. "Defeated, eh?" Canadian. "Wat iz zees defeated business?" French. "Yo, essay. Yo MAMI defeated!" Spanish. LOOK AT ME, I'M BILIGINGUAL! Ask to me to translate something, anything. Quick! What's Chinese for REVENGE!? Why does the phrase "pee pee in Coke" spring to mind? Damn elementary school kids permenantly cementing shit in my head. Shake shake shake! Shake shake shake! Shake your booty! ...Who WROTE that song? I understand that you can't predict or shake off the throes of inspiration, but what's the art of getting inspired by booty shaking? I can just see some old pervert sitting on the stairs, watching a bunch of high school girls walk by, skirts flouncing, and he turns his old wrinkled head and says in an almost obsessively cracked whisper, "Shake shake shake...shake your booty." And then Bread picked it up. Or somebody with equally annoying songs. eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerie Lake Eeeeeeeeeeerie. God, could that be more dramatic? Or more obvious that drug smugglers used to put up shop there? I bet they were driven to the lakesite in droves, and they just waited there for their clients to arrive. They named the Lake Eerie because it scared away the tourists, nosy kids, and disapproving constitutionists. They hung up paper ghosts in the trees and hid behind bushes and made "ooooh" noises, rustling the branches with both fists. And then the kids or the old people or whoever it was that had managed to wander into the woods would shriek, "No WONDER it's called Lake Eerie!" and run off to spread the news. "Hey, man. Let's call it Eerie, because, like, it's scary and stuff." "Heh heh. You just said 'stuff.'" Beavis and Butthead doing Eerie. Da dum CHHHH. I don't even need that guy to sit at the drumset after my jokes. I'll just use my mouth, since I am a professional beatboxer and all. Drop it like it's HOT. I'm also a professional wrestler. And it's not FAKE. I should know. You should see my chipped nail. Barely got off the ropes last night. Had to come back in swinging and singing, "I will survive" to get the Slammin Jammin Man in Hammin up off me. Worst superhero name ever: Pussywillow. "LOOK! UP IN THE SKY! IT'S, THANK GOD, PUSSY'S HERE TO SAVE THE DAY!" And imagine her, with her hands on her hips, glaring up at a villian. "You OBVIOUSLY don't know who you're talking to." "Oh yeah? And who's that?" "(snort of derision) I'm PUSSYWILLOW." Dum dum duuum. Worst way to ask your wife to marry her: "We might as well." Worst way to tell a bully to step off: "I'm training to be a cage fighter." Worst way to invite your girl to have sex: "The OTHER girl didn't protest as much." welcome to atlanta. where the players play. and the ballers ball. and the ladies lade. in the autumn or fall. That's MY piece of work. Take THAT, Ludicris. Is that how you spell his name? God, I can't keep up with these spellings, these plays on words. Ludicrous. Loodehcris. Loodycrees. Sounds like a sandwich now. Or a Willy Wonka chocolate. Spun out by those good old Oompa Loompas. OOMPA LOOMPA DOOPITY DO I'VE GOT ANOTHER RID-DLE FOR YOU GOD. Could they GET any better than that? I mean, really. Could they GET any better than THAT? There's just no way to improve upon them! They are the ultimate! As I type this, I'm reminded on Napoleon Dynamite sitting on the stairs of his high school, drawing, and Deb comes up to him and says, "What's that?" And he says, "A lyger," and Deb goes, "What's that?" and he says, "It's probably like my favorite animal. Special skills in magic." I'll end this entry and write another. Don't want to be scolded. The corner's cluttered and there's no where to sit in it anyway. post comment

First Sentence of Every Month, years past. [10 Jan 2005|08:58pm] [ mood | huh ] Lemme explain. I got the idea from the fabtabulicious Juli's journal. Except I modified it a bit. Sort of like Tim Taylor on Home Improvement. I took a perfectly fine working meme and turned it into a verbal chainsaw of destruction. Basically what I did, was I took the first sentence of every month from the VERY beginning of my LJ, pasted he-ya, and what sufficed actually makes a trippy entry. You can hear me growing up. ( Call it the Cliff's Notes version of my LJ. ) post comment

[09 Jan 2005|08:18pm] [ mood | laughing so hard ] BlueKittyGrrl: OMG I saw the SADDEST guy on TV the other day. BlueKittyGrrl: You know the Cabbage Patch dolls? Swallow teh Moon: yea? BlueKittyGrrl: *snorts* Okay. He was like 40...married...had a daughter...and a "son." The "son" was named Kevin and had red hair. And he was a Cabbage Patch doll. BlueKittyGrrl: Kevin was more spoiled than the daughter. Swallow teh Moon: Uh.. BlueKittyGrrl: He had his own room...his own remote control car that matched his dad's...(his dad made him drive around the driveway with controls...) BlueKittyGrrl: DUDE. HE WENT WHITE WATER RAFTING WITH THEM. Swallow teh Moon: This was HIS doll?? BlueKittyGrrl: *laughing* WITH A LIFE VEST. BlueKittyGrrl: YES!!!!! Swallow teh Moon: oookay BlueKittyGrrl: There were PICTURES OF HIM WITH A LIFE VEST IN THE WATER! Swallow teh Moon: THATS weird BlueKittyGrrl: He has a COLLEGE FUND. Swallow teh Moon: hahahah!!!! BlueKittyGrrl: They interviewed the daughter being all like, "I HATE Kevin." Swallow teh Moon: WHY do they call him by a name? Swallow teh Moon: its a freaking doll haha Swallow teh Moon: he probably has a bed made of bubble-wrap, too BlueKittyGrrl: *laughing* Nah, dude. The bed has sheets. BlueKittyGrrl: *collapses in giggles* the worst part was the car. He was all strapped into the little remote control car, and the dad was making him drive around. BlueKittyGrrl: and he talks to Kevin like he's real. Swallow teh Moon: so scary BlueKittyGrrl: Wouldn't you be scared if that was your dad? Swallow teh Moon: pssh ye! BlueKittyGrrl: And it was your birthday and you asked him to leave Kevin at home but he insisted he had to bring him because he's part of the family? Swallow teh Moon: i mean who wouldnt be?? BlueKittyGrrl: So he gets strapped into the rollercoaster right next to you, and people are eyeing you like YOU'RE crazy? Swallow teh Moon: what does the wife think of it? BlueKittyGrrl: while your dad yells, "KEEP AN EYE OUT FOR KEVIN!" Swallow teh Moon: haha and he thinks its perfectly fine and normal XP BlueKittyGrrl: She just humors him. Swallow teh Moon: spph, im sure she hates it Swallow teh Moon: he probably buys him ice cream too BlueKittyGrrl: *LAUGHING!!* BlueKittyGrrl: Oh my GOD. BlueKittyGrrl: Picture him holding the cone up to his immobile face... Swallow teh Moon: hahaha BlueKittyGrrl: "Come on, Kevin...eat the ice cream..." BlueKittyGrrl: Smearing it all over. Swallow teh Moon: EAT IT! COME OONN! BlueKittyGrrl: *laughing!!* getting all pissed Swallow teh Moon: then he starts crying hysterically BlueKittyGrrl: "COME ON, YOU FUCKER! I GOT IT DOUBLE-DIPPED FOR YOUR PANSY ASS!" Swallow teh Moon: THEN gets the doll therapy BlueKittyGrrl: *laughing* because he figures he's depressed and that's why he won't eat. Swallow teh Moon: yup post comment

[09 Jan 2005|07:54pm] [ mood | crafty ] In my spare time I'm building a Danneh shrine. This is only step one. *cackles!*   Buildin' the shrine... 1 comment|post comment

[09 Jan 2005|06:33pm] [ mood | spooked ] School starts tomorrow. I have a bunch of shiz-nit I need to fix about my schedule. For one, the fucked up fact that I got a D in Bio I, which means I can't take Bio II because a D won't transfer over when I graduate from Gordon. So I need to do all this add/drop shit, but first I have to be unlocked and blah blah blah blah. God, I had technical stuff. I hate school period and it hasn't even started. What a great way to begin the semester. Family Guy -- need Family Guy therapy. Stuie is a barrel of laughs. I'm Grams-sitting tonight. That's mean, but it's sort of true. Mom and dad skirted away to Minnesota (I type that and have the urge to say "Minnie-soda" in a bad Minnesodian accent) and left me on Grandma Duty. That's kind of lame, considering she's perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but I guess I get what they're saying. They don't want grams feeling creeped out at night, and she also doesn't know how to drive. So it's good that I'm here, but I can't shake this weird feeling of unease that only comes from the feeling of an empty house. Why is an empty house so unnerving? It just IS. What makes a house a home is the sound of laughter or of LIFE. What makes a house a home is happy clutter. Sitcom laughtracks. The smell of chicken roasting. Forks clanking. Toilets flushing. Sounds, the feeling of presence more than anything. I don't have to see my parents constantly to know that they're walking around upstairs. But tonight, with just my grandma in this big house, I feel nervous. I guess it's because she just told me something that kind of scares me, but that's probably just my imagination. Or hers. Hopefully hers. I don't want to say what it was that scared me in here because I want a quiet, uneventful night. I can't be scared, not tonight. I wish my friends didn't start school tomorrow, because they've all pretty much evacuated McDonough and are back in their respective places. I need comfort. I hate that I'm not used to sleeping alone. post comment

[06 Jan 2005|03:04pm] [ mood | ill ] Still sickleh. Fever's gone down, but I have that sense of looking at the world through misted over eyes. Where something's just not quite right, and you look and you look and you realize it's yourself. The top part of your body's hot and the bottom's cold. How I hate being sick. NURSE! post comment

[05 Jan 2005|09:15pm] [ mood | blehily sick ] Look how fucking generic I am. And one more, to bring attention to my g-ed out hair. And no. I didn't just take these. If you want to know my recent physical appearance, add rat's nest hair, sleepy-eyes, a feverishly red face, about a bazillion kleenexes, and frown lines from here                  to here. Pickshures distract though. Distract ME. post comment

Santa Claus, Langoliers, and existentational bullshit. [29 Dec 2004|11:59pm] [ mood | contemplative ] I'm tired right now, but I can't go to sleep, so I think I'll reflect for a moment. Have you ever thought so deeply, so profoundly about things that are essentially so simple that you cease to live your life, you merely become a spectator? Sometimes I do this thing where I can think myself out of existence. Not literally. I mean, I'm no magician. I don't mutter abracadabra and then in one big flash of pink smoke I'm gone. But sometimes I can think myself out of existence. The first time I did it I was nine years old. I remember I was lying the way kids do on the couch on the living room, with my back flat on the cushion, my feet in the air, my legs propped up against the back of the couch. I was staring up at the ceiling. And I started thinking. Sort of existentational stuff. Cheesy "Am I really here?" sort of things. At first. But then it gets deeper than that. The more you think yourself out of existence, the more you become aware of your surroundings. I remember the couch suddenly felt furry. Alive. The ceiling swam in front of my eyes. My hands and my hair didn't feel my own. And for a few brief seconds I didn't know who I was. That's not really the way to put it -- there's no describing this in a really sane sort of way -- but I wasn't sure if I was really sitting there. Who was controlling my mouth, my hands, my body. I wasn't ME. And then as soon as I was aware of that fact, I snapped right back. Subject change. I just finished reading The Langoliers today. I'd seen the movie sometime a few years ago and it made me think. About all that Trekkie stuff, y'know. About time rips and empty airports and death and the universe and the Bermuda Triangle. There's so much stuff out there we don't understand. Even some of our universal laws contradict themselves (and I hate to sound so general on this, but I don't remember the exact laws). Humans, as we are, are deaf, blind, dumb and stupid. I wonder like we only use ten percent of our brains, we only see ten percent of reality. And change again because I just remembered this while my hair was drying under the blowdryer today (I got my hair done -- insert girly shriek here). There's a whole group of people dedicated to personally answering letters to Santa that get addressed to "Santa Claus, North Pole." They do thousands and thousands of letters, volunteering to spend their time so that children will truly believe they've received a real letter from Santa in the mail. They even said that they personally read each letter to compose an appropriate response. This is either overwhelmingly kind or overbearingly cruel. I can't decide which. 4 comments|post comment

[26 Dec 2004|10:14pm] [ mood | sleepy ] I cannot stand spending this much time with my family. It's like a Christmas overload. Normally I'd be feeling the family togetherness thing, but this year it feels like we're stuck in a big thick snowglobe untouched by the world, and we're continually being shaken up again and again and again. Today mom and dad put my summer clothes and a bunch of other things I'd intended on wearing in shrink wrap. It's not bad enough that they moved me out of my garnormous room into this tiny storage closet, where half my furniture doesn't fit (and they kept my full length mirror, but I literally cannot walk in this room), but then I went to work today and they show up and inform me that they've just shrink wrapped my clothes. No joke. I go home. Check my closet. Yup. They've been shrink-wrapping away. Not only my summer clothes, but a few other things I'd intended on wearing. "Um. Mom? Why are my turtlenecks in shrinkwrap?" "Those are sleeveless," she informed me, as if I was Hellen Keller on crack. "I know." I cleared my throat and tried again. "But they're turtlenecks. I wear them under a light blazer. It's Georgia. It doesn't get that cold." "Those are sleeveless," she said, sounding like a recording. "But they're sort of my winter apparal." "They're sleeveless." It was like talking to a wall, in the disguise of a Filipino mother. So this morning I broke my windshield wiper motors. Seventy five each plus labor to fix them. And no, daddy's not covering the cost. How did I break it? Well, it was iced over this morning. I defrosted my windshield, scraped the ice off, etc, etc. The only thing left was a thin layer of mushy ice that I could easily flick off with my wipers. Only I didn't take into account the fact that my wipers were each encased in thick blocks of ice of their own. I, being the Einstein that I am, flicked the wipers up -- and promptly broke my motors. Yay. Merry Christmas to me -- I love watching my Christmas money disappear down the drain. Top this all off with an obnoxious manager in training who definately has it out for me and too much family togetherness (as well as a mom who shrink wraps your clothes when you're at work - who DOES that?!) and my holidays = sucktackular. I wish I had parents who would give me allowance for the rest of my life, enough to ensure my social security when I got older. But, as they keep telling me, with grated voices, and slitted eyes, this is what's best for me, learning the value of money. Blah blah blah. I did go see the lights tonight at Lake Lanier. That was pretty special. But was it special enough to make me forget the shrink wrapping? Trust me. I had to inflate a bag just now to get a pair of pajama pants out. Nothing will make me forget the shrink wrapping. post comment

[25 Dec 2004|03:01pm] [ mood | spirity ] Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas. I'm not even going to go into what I received for Christmas, because, frankly, nobody cares. I did get a lot of awesome stuff, though, for the few, selective VIP that are aware. I think I'll go watch Aladdin and reminisce of days where I was young, bucktoothed, and awkward. ...or not. Despite this entry, I find myself in somewhat of a holiday spirit. I'm going to make this short and go read in front of the fireplace. New books and all. 4 comments|post comment

*glaring around* [23 Dec 2004|09:53am] [ mood | awake ] What Will kylene Get ? Xmas pressie predictor Big wooly jumper knitted by flychyc768 Pair of Socks from seia Bottle of Whiskey from ijustdontknow Cd from kageonna Something Cuddly from fauxophy Something Intoxicating from rzeznikgirl35 Something Silly from kriquet Something Funny from moogle_farm_inc Lump of coal from echo007 Something Pretty from xx__heather__xx Something Shiny from chokingonlilies Something Naughty from altoangel Something Smelly from dakota Something Breakable from stereobabe Something Useful from lookslikelibby Something not useful from utopic The Black and Decker Tool Kit from zandren Livejournal account from athena The Make-up Bag from numenesse Stack of DVDs from firstofall Something Geeky from libbymonster Username: Made by _imran_ and beyond_bananas. Hosted at Memeland EXPLAIN YOURSELVES!! 4 comments|post comment

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