The Spy Who Shagged Me.

Lolololol ignore my title. Apparently I think I'm hilarious.

Well, now that Creative Writing is over. (Thank Godzilla) I thought I'd share the only good thing I thought came out of it, and that would be my short fiction piece.

So, here goes!

Rouge

With a black rag thrown over his head, he couldn’t see where he was being lead, but the churning of apprehension in his stomach proved that he already had an idea. After days of malnourishment, living off of leaves in a watered soup, he could barely keep himself steady, unable to hold himself up. He found himself literally being dragged along, the guards of the prison holding him up from the pits of his arms. Filthy bare feet barely touching the floor, a dull pain ached at his sockets. He willed for it to stop.
He knew they had reached their destination. Stopping abruptly, the guards rapped on what sounded like wood, and before he could even comprehend the elevated thumping beat of his heart onto his rib cage, he was pulled so forcibly, into what could only be perceived as yet another room of his imprisonment, that he fell face first onto the floor. His nose throbbed painfully where it had crushed against the hard cold tile, and he struggled to get to his feet, but his arms were bound behind his back and he was left helpless.
The first thing he noticed was the stench. Gasping for breath out of sheer panic, waves of the smell crashed through his sinuses. Vomit, human feces, decay, every unimaginable evil swarmed and burned his senses. He couldn’t let them hear his exasperated whimper, but his mind couldn’t even begin to comprehend the horror he now found himself in.
Without warning, rough hands violently pulled him to his feet, and before he could even balance his body’s momentum, his back was thrown on a hard board of some kind. Feet above, were shackled, and the fear tore through his veins. He struggled, tossed his chest as hard and fast as he could but he was quickly refuted as a blunt wallop to the head made him feel stars. His arms were unbound, but held by such strong hands, he was so weak, he couldn’t fight it. Stretched uncomfortably above his head, they too were imprisoned by metal bounds. He was trapped. There was nothing he could do. Oh dear god.
He could hear footsteps, echoing across the tile, voices. Suddenly, the rag was torn free and the bright white light momentarily blinded him. Shapes swum before his eyes, squinting, trying to make out his surroundings. Before he could even blink away the colorful dots jumping around his vision, his face was once again covered by a dark towel. It was heavy, and his quick frightened breath provided enough heat to leave his face in a sweat, and had him struggling to take in clean air.
A shuffle of bodies, click. A scraping sound…is that, sound of liquid. But his heart nearly stopped when a deep raspy voice spoke.
“What is your name?”
Curiously, his towel grew heavy, wet. Pressing down around his mouth and nose, suffocating. Carefully dosed water. A stream of it, falling into his throat. Gasping, struggling for air. Lungs burning in his chest, than it stopped, suddenly.
“State your crimes against the revolution!”
The rag is snatched off his face, blinding light again, chest pumping, heart racing. The air doesn’t come fast enough.
“Answer immediately!”
His ears rang with the order, blood pounding in his skull. He coughed and hacked, and struggled to find the words.
Not fast enough.
The rag was thrown over his face once more, and while he strained against his bounds, he was barely able to voice a protest before the water was again applied. Choking, gagging, lungs again burning with a fire unimaginable to the living. It’s over, dying, it’s over—
Blinding white light, air invading through, head swimming, a strangled reply in a recognizable voice that could only be his own quickly spewed and stuttered,
“I-I’ma a D-doctor.”
And with a harsh reply, the stranger in the room screamed,
“What have you done to undermine the regime?!”
Before he could think he sputtered out, “Nothing!” As if an answer like that was enough to calm them.
Again, he was subjected to the torture of near death, now his entire body burning and shaking with the sheer terror of it. He couldn’t feel or think of anything but the inevitability of his demise, the steady stream of water falling and choking him becoming nothing but a sort of familiar melody. Longer now, dragging on forever, overcome with pain, screaming with no sound, collapsing—
This time when the rag was removed, a terrible rumbling arose in his chest and bile forced its way from the confines of his human body. Worn, and nearly lifeless. He was freed from the board, thrown to the ground in a sitting position, and his head was held down by a strong hand straining the back of his neck. He shuddered and coughed it all up on the floor below him. Hazy vision and dizzy nausea he barely could make out the dirty green and white tile under him. It reminded him and looked like he could have been in a school. To be educated on being uneducated.
“You will follow my orders. This is your last chance. Answer me.”
Trembling in a fetal position, and shaking like a dog left out in the cold, he began to tell wild tales. Anything to appease them. He told them of adventurous days in the CIA, a life of betrayal. He spoke of how he used modern medicines in order to help cripple the revolution. How he purposefully tried to sabotage the agricultural community with his intelligence learned from evil American universities. He begun to lightly sob now, shaking his head as he relinquished every last treasonous confession.
After the last word had left his lips, the man who was questioning him stood up, still not daring to lift his head. The man was wearing thick black boots, circling him, preying on his victim like an animal stalking its dinner. The smell of leather filled his nostrils, mixing with the taste of salty tears and sweat.
“What about your family? Surely, a monster such as yourself has other filthy little comrades. What are their names?”
On the ground, he stiffened, entire body paling. No, please. Real tears now fought to escape, but he couldn’t let them see. Not them. His family were the only things left in this entire world worth protecting.
“I-I don’t-I have n-no one-“Eyes wide, the fear in his voice gave him away.
The footsteps stopped. The man stopped. He pulled his right leg back, and took one swift barreling kick straight to the chest of the victim.
Shattering searing pain. He howled in agony, breaking and wallowing in his own defeated and broken body. He felt like throwing up again, rolling on his back, shaking and holding back the tears.
“Do not cry in front of me. Do not break the rules. Give me their names.”
That was the one thing he could not would not do. No. His body felt like it could explode, the weight of the pain, the suffering tearing away at his mortality. He told himself he would die rather than give them up. He could not would not-
He found himself again being thrown onto the board, his back slamming against the flat long torturous device. He screamed, his ribcage felt like it was being ripped open, his heart bleeding through. Strings of pleading words ran from his mouth, panic and suffering controlling his mind. Arms and legs locked, the rag, water—fucking water, the ingredient of life, stealing all of his life away. Killing him. Lungs collapsing again, filling to the brim, drowning him in fear, mind swimming with the same relentless barrage of thoughts, stop, please stop, dear god I’ll do anything, make it stop. Thrashing and straining, body in flames, the terrible terrible feeling, it will be soon. Please.
The moment he was met with the savor of light, he immediately gave them up. All of them. God he was sorry, so sorry. The interrogator grew tired of hearing it, and scribbled down their names. The man knew the regime would be fetching them next.
And he was sick, he couldn’t believe it, his world was spinning and his mind was numb. He hated himself more than anything else, more than the men in the room, more than the reds, he couldn’t believe it. He had sent his family to their deaths.
The man was standing over him now, watching as he gasped and shook with the agony of his confession.
“I have what I need. But remember; to keep you is no benefit, To destroy you is no loss.”
The man, big black boots, said this with such finality, such inhuman emotion, it left a quiet air in the room.
He was eventually freed from his restraints, and was lead out of the room, head covered. Ashamed and defeated, a broken man. His legs were dragging on the floor now; he had no will to carry himself. Ironically, the thing he wished for more than ever was to put all the misery behind him. The guards were silent as they pulled him along; leading him finally to the tiny cell, he shared with a few others. He had never spoken to any of them, but he understood now the feeling they shared.
And when the door was shut, and the room was enveloped in darkness, he finally wept.


Yeap. That's it. It's about the Khemer Rouge in case nobody got that, I threw around little hints and my class thought this was all Gauntani--tortue peice so they didn't really care. Honestly, I think it's a bit unfortunate. I mean, I'm glad they thought it was a powerful story that really spoke to the universal message of torture or some shit, but I was really wanting to stimulate the fear, I thought, of how terrible the Rouge was. They were hunting and killing intellectuals specifically, it doesn't get more terrifying than that. Oh well, mission failed. Also, I barely edited this, shame on me, and there a few parts that should be italic as in thoughts but I'm too lazy to fix it.

Oh wells.

On another writing note, I can't stop thinking about Resident Evil and Ada's story. Darkside Chronicles didn't clear it up like everyone was expecting it too, and now with RE6 apparently 5 or so years away and being heralded as a reboot, I feel like it's never going to get explained. Her story is the only loose end left in the series, along with Sherry, but overall Ada's is the only major impact on all of the events that has not been explained.
So, I'm going to combine all of my theories after extensive (I'm a lvl 75 REfan btw) research on every plot element in the series, I'm going to write it myself. Yeap.
I'm pretty excited for it.
I'm not really sure if it's 'fanfiction' persay, because I'm doing something completely different I think. I'm going to be realistic and write within the confines of the series, as a story behind-the-scenes sort of thing.
And who knows, if I actually go through with what I plan to do, maybe Capcom will be interested in publishing it. They approved S.D. Perry's less than interesting take on the games, with her unrealistic mary-sue puppets and canonical crimes. Also, she has quite a few noncanon RE books that have nothing to do with the games that were published. Why couldn't I than? Her writing isn't all that impressive either, like mine, so I think maybe this could happen. I just gotta do it.

The fun part of course is the research for me. (Maybe I should go for that History major, since that's what history is all about, LOVE OF MY LIFE, and having that major will just tell everyone I'm a glorified 'professional' researcher.)

I've studying extensively the spy culture and real workings. The problem with most spy conceptions is it's mostly stylized and unrealistic. I'm attempting to counteract that. I know Ada is probably one of these Hollywood spies, but since not much is known about her at all I think I'd be able to salavage her integrity yet.

Yeap.

I'm pretty excited.

Dear Corporate America

Christmas before Thanksgiving by *soulchaserzero on deviantART

Dear Corporate America,

I am a huge fan of Christmas.

I LOVE Christmas. If Christmas were a comely maiden of unparalleled purity, I would drop on my knees and... tell her I'd totally propose if I were straight.

And I know, dear corporations, that we're all doing the best we can to pull ourselves out of this economic slump, and I am aware that Christmas is the time to get people spending their dough, ya dig?

But please, please, PLEASE, I implore you, save Christmas for December! At least wait until the turkey population takes a seasonal nosedive... at the very least! I stand in protest to every Christmas decoration hung up before the back-to-school specials hit the stores!

I feel as though there's a miniature anachronism in making Christmas come too soon... It dilutes the special Christmasy feelings if you spread Christmas too thin... over three to four months! Christmas should be enjoyed at full potency, packed into a single month when the line between goodwill and consumerism is joyfully blurred, whether one's egg nog has been spiked or not. This might be why we're losing our childhoods sooner and sooner... because Christmas ain't so special when it's four months long!

At any rate, I do so love Christmas, and I urge you lovely dears to keep it potent, keep it packed, and keep it in December.

Yours with love, devotion, and a Bing Crosby song dedicated to you on Kool 108,

Trungles

Childhood Aspirations! (Moar lyke, Asspirates, amirite?)

Lol.
I'm sorry, I'm really amused by my title.
Hahaha.

Okay.

I was thinking lately. Yeah I know. I do that sometimes.
About where I want to go, what I've always wanted to do, what I think I can do, etc. Because, shocker, I'm still stuck and lost and only have a few more years to go before I become a Basement Dweller. I don't want to be THAT person...especially since by than I'd have SWTOR...and would literally be, like, an upstairs dweller. Who would live off of Ramen noodles, and not pay for wireless, but would use it anyways, and who bum rides off my parents (Even though I have a car now, I probably would have traded it in to buy a super computer, because that's what Basement Dwellers do. Think Alienware.) Oh, and than I'd be overweight (lolololol check. SHUT UP LET ME HAVE THIS ONE THING TO COMPLAIN ABOUT. Geez, you people and bringing up my self esteem all the time... ...tell me I'm pretty plz?) and than I'd wear the same gigantic stainy shirt (everyone wonders what that stain is here, especially since...) and than I'd have a stubbly disgusting unshaven face because I'm convinced that once you become a Basement Dweller regardless of gender, this just comes with the territory. Yeah, and I stay in my cave (room). Nasty.

Well anyways. To the point (lie.)

I thought it'd be fun to sit here and think about all my possible career choices and how that's changed over the years. So I'm doing it in front of a keyboard...(OMG is that something that a Basement Dweller would do?! *SHAVES*)

So back when I was a wee little child my dreams were...

• Be an Astronomer (No thanks. This sounded like it would be amazing to me but staring at the same picture of a star for years doesn't appeal to me anymore.)
• Become a Scientist (Would have been cool if I actually turned out to be any good at Science.)
• Become a Pokemon
• Go to Hogwarts (Would if I coooould.)
• Become a Professional Lego Tester (This would be the life, but they can't be payed much. XD)

• Play in the London Symphony Orchestra conducted by John Williams, preferably performing movie soundtracks. (I would still love do this. This is definitely one of those specific dreams that you wish could happen but never will. Johnny is getting up there too in age, there is no way I could make this happen. But I know that I technically *could* get there. I have the means. I play the trumpet, if I perfected it I'd have a shot. But that would take a lot of TIME and rigorous practicing and training. Not going to happen.)
• Be a singer, actress, movie director, etc. (All of these are unrealistic. I think it would be a lot of fun to be a singer. I don't have the voice though. I think it'd be so much fun to play a character in a movie, get in there head and really make the audience get in your shoes. I don't have the training or probably talent. Being a director would be fun too, but I just don't know how to make this happen. It's such a terrible world to get into, and it saddens me how few of them really take what they have seriously. Honestly, I could get payed nothing, and I would act in as many movies as possible. I've always wanted to just BE apart of it. I love watching 'Making of" documentaries on any of my favorite movies, and I always think, I could so be that extra right there or I could so be one of those people who tells everyone to 'Quiet on set!". Just to be a part of it and help make a film, is more rewarding than money or fame (I also don't want this, so honestly, not going to happen if I'm not going to whore myself around to network).
• Become an author of novels, publish. (I think anyone could make this happen. All you need to do is hone your craft. Thing about writing is, you can get better and keep working on it on your own time. You don't NEED professional training, it's just something you can get done if you spend the time to improve. I'd have a loooong way to go to get to this level, but I think it's possible one day.)
• Be a Disney Animator (lol. Impossible. I don't have the talent or skill for this. Empty dream really.)
• Be an Archaeologist (Probably the best thing for me. I love history right? Specifically anything before the Modern Era...so finding things that I adore and love and sharing my findings with the world would be truly rewarding. Besides, there are secrets and things that remain undiscovered and I feel like someone NEEDS to find it for everybody! Sort of like a mass team effort of every Archaeologist. For example, I NEED to find Alexander the Great and Genghis Khan and what not because honestly, we need them found. I just feel that way about history. Someone has to do it, and I'd LOVE to volunteer my services. To get payed to do something I love is a dream in and of itself, but to get payed while I live and breathe history, and I'm busy digging up, writing about, displaying, and explaining the past would make me so happy.

• On the above note, wouldn't it be great if I worked at a Museum? (God that would be so amazing too. To just walk around and tell people what I know, and try to teach them something about history in a fun and interesting way. Gosh! I'm always so excited about history, I'd love to get other people excited about it too! Please please please let me take the kids on a tour!)
• Hmm. I could always write history books....which leads me to...
• To adapt classic novels (Such as Tales of Genji, Epic of Gilgamesh, etc.) to be readable by mass audiences. (Seriously. These kind of books are so important to us, and most people don't even know it. The majority of the population will never hear of these books, and none of them will bother to try reading them. Unfortunately they are just so old. Translations are rough or hard to get through and the language just puts people off. But if I could adapt and shape the writing to fit ordinary people so they could read a 'dumbed' down version, that would be better than them not reading at all. All that would be done is the language wouldn't be so hard to get through, all someone has to do is clean it up a bit more, and these stories could really appeal to more people than just the history or student of classic literature. All of these stories have the same characteristics of stories we have today. Tales of Genji (*cough**cough* is pretty much written by Japanese Stephanie Meyer for the entertainment of other ladies, still has waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay x9000 substance, but still) is a good example, if it were made more modern. Half the people who would really enjoy it, are reading similar novels anyways. We'd still have the higher level classics, meant for audiences who don't mind or enjoy slogging through a tough book, but I think it'd be great if people who like to read casually could do so with one of these books.

Hmm. I feel like stopping. Because, ironically, I want to go to bed and read my TIME 'Great Discoveries: Explorations that Changed History."

...

I know what I should do, clearly. Anyone can see it just by what I wrote about above, but I'm still afraid this is the easy way out.

A part of me still holds on to those unrealistic dreams, and I suppose maybe that is what is holding me back. I'm afraid that if I settle on one thing, I have to part ways and say goodbye to the other aspirations.

I just need to find a way to keep them there, in a healthy way, while I pursue something I know I can successfully do.

I've been a bad boy....

So I did this cartoon for the newspaper...



And here's a response I got from a not-so-nice columnist in my section...



The whole point was that we needed to inspire dialogue for the paper. He decided to keep it personal... and I'm not sure why.

He's perfectly nice face-to-face... but he's a little meaner when he doesn't have to look you in the face, or so I've heard.

I'm inclined to believe that, actually. :)

Here's a minor taste of him as an individual...



As an first-generation immigrant, I find this a little improper.

Try not to judge him.

Dear World

Dear world,

College has been eating up my life, and yet I’m proud to say that I enjoy every minute of it. Every volunteer opportunity, every event I help plan, and every person I meet and come to admire will probably be ingrained forever in my memory. It’s been a wonderful first couple of weeks, and I’m so happy I chose the college I did. One of the most amazing things about my college experience is that, every now and then, I learn something new about myself in ways that I never could imagine.

I finally have a little bit of free time now, meaning that I will be catching up on blog readings and giving responses far overdue.




P.S: Sophie, my dear, I have to tell you that I read your last post quite a while ago, and I wasn't entirely sure how to respond to the severity of the situation. There are so many things I want to say to your experience, and I couldn't even begin to count all the variations of rage and helplessness I experienced to find out that you had been hurt that way.

So I will do my very best, and, of course, I'll send you an update of my life to the best of my ability... a lot has happened.

I am seriously ill... therefore, I succumb to flights of fantasy...

This is what happens when my roommate and I are both deliriously ill.

***


Trung

you

i hate that you got me sick

you monstrous bag of plague

ptooey

I digitally spit on you
10:54pmDavid

You know me...

Misery loves company
10:54pmTrung

You be misery
10:54pmDavid

Look who is a clever dan
10:55pmTrung

oh quiet you
10:56pmDavid

You started it, need I remind you
10:56pmTrung

i did not

you were the one who came sick
10:58pmDavid

True but you decided to room with me this year
10:58pmTrung

Yeah, but we determined this long before you decided it was a good idea to contract this virus
10:59pmDavid

Hey it courted the shit out of me first

There were flowers and wine involved
10:59pmTrung

Did it have a penis that could potentially destroy you?
10:59pmDavid

Probably
10:59pmTrung

Then is may possibly be excusable

otherwise, there is simply no excuse
11:00pmDavid

Giant Penis's make everything better
11:00pmTrung

yes

Yes they do.

Unfortunately, between the two of us, we can only say that Richie has first-hand experience of that

seeing as to how he rode the giant golden penis this past weekend
11:01pmDavid

True. But he hasn't gotten sick from either of us...
11:03pmDavid

Perhaps the giant golden penis has medicinal qualities?
11:03pmTrung

Then it is settled

In order to get well, we must appoint a hero to venture forth and claim the medicinal qualities of the Great Golden Penis

in order to restore us to health

This sounds like the plot to a very badly produced fantasy gay porno film

I deem Richie as a candidate to become the hero, clearly.
11:05pmDavid

Okay, who shall be his stalwart sidekick?
11:06pmTrung

Hmmm....

Yes, he must have one

And a magical token of our support, as well.

I could give him a shiny blue packet of lube
11:06pmDavid

Sounds good. Who is the sexiest person we know on campus?
11:07pmTrung

Hmm...

Well...

There's Jeff

But you insulted him by insinuating he was an underclassman

when he came to borrow your belt
11:08pmDavid

I did nothing of the sort! I just assumed that he was there because you offered him help
11:10pmTrung

well, now the sexy man who would have been a great stalwart second-banana is now not on board

heehee

stalwart second-banana

i must giggle at it for i am gay

it is in my nature
11:10pmDavid

How about Justis? He is pretty suave and sexy
11:11pmTrung

He is

But I feel that he may have a tendency to overpower the first-banana
11:11pmDavid

And Richie needs a counter-weight to his adorable clumsy nature
11:11pmTrung

Richie must discover his inner hero on this mission

would Justis be a boon to this end?
11:12pmDavid

It is like Don Quixote
11:12pmTrung

Except...

With the reverse widths

but with the respective heights
11:12pmDavid

Pretty much
11:12pmTrung

They need a steed
11:13pmDavid

Hmmm... I can't see Richie riding ANYTHING though
11:14pmTrung

True.
11:14pmDavid

not even women
11:14pmTrung

perhaps he can wear a lucky sock

A jock sock

Besides

He is on a sacred mission to extract the medicinal qualities from the ?Great Golden Phallus

Riding women is totally out of the question

for YEARS
11:15pmDavid

Too true...but he can't become a Don Juan at the end of the quest then
11:16pmTrung

But he acquires the wisdom of the Golden Penis

He should be set
11:17pmDavid

Ahhh

So he will need to spend formative years in training after he retrieves it then
11:17pmTrung

Yes

He probably needs to ride that thing for a while before he can truly learn and apply its phallic wisdoms
11:18pmDavid

I think I am too sick to truly enjoy this conversation at its peak
11:19pmTrung

Me too

Let's shelve this and giggle about it later
11:19pmDavid

We should send it to richie though
11:20pmTrung

true
11:20pmDavid

You want to do the honors?
11:20pmTrung

Be my guest, good sir.

Oh hallo thar PTSD, would you like some tea?

I was supposed to write a childhood memory poem for Creative Writing, and right now I have a skeleton of a poem. Here it is:

Defiance

Rushing through the thin halls
Thick with the bodies of students,
A young girl pulls on her pink frilly coat,
Another brushes past, lighting the fuse.

Like a stick of dynamite, the girl erupts, chasing her down the hall
Pink in the face, eyes a flash of glaring red,
Words fly on both ends, unabated, the tension pools over, mouths flapping away.
One of them is silenced, her defiance cooled.

The impact steals away the girl’s last remaining dignity,
All is numb, her vision is hazy
Flashes of black, white, her world is spinning,
Her friends are laughing, all ringing

Surprisingly, the calm washes over as face meets mettle,
Who would have thought she’d go out this way?
A teacher watches close by, is she moving, passing?
Again the ringing

The tears sting down the girl’s cheeks,
She falls to the floor in a crumbled heap.
Everything is dark, nothing but the torture of defeat.
She holds her head in her hands as she weeps.

The other is ashamed; she is still kicking and flailing,
Tearing down her own pain, all she can feel is relief.
She is attacking relentlessly, wildly;
Can’t you see she hurts the same?

Bloody knuckles, cracked and bruised
Shaking and crying, head in her hands.
Things are becoming clear, she dashes away with friends in tow,
All is till dark for the one below.

She is lead up by strong caring arms
Carried down the halls, all is empty and quiet
Her world is still numb, unfeeling
Her savior reassuringly pats her aching and raw back.

Nothing can be seen but black and white,
Still all but hazy
Her defiance finally silenced.


Aside from the poem being dreadful, it brings up a memory from my past that I usually don't talk about, but it's affected me more than I'd like to admit.

Apparently, I suffer from post traumatic stress disorder as a result, thus says the one with the PHD, but I'm not comfortable identifying myself like this.

I stubbornly believe my reactions to things around me are my own, but every so often I'll see things a little bit differently than my family. My mom will always become sad and serious, and tell me in a quiet voice that a terrible thing had happened to me, and now my disorder is being brought back into the fore front of my psych. Maybe she won't always say this so clearly, but whenever she reminds me I can't help but cry every time.
I hate to think that I don't have control over the way I react. I refuse to believe that this holds anything over me.

For instance, when the drunken teenagers crashed their car into our house recently and nearly killed our entire family, I haven't been sleeping very well. I'll stay awake, toss and turn, and think about what if. Also, whenever I hear loud car related noises outside, for instance: Speeding cars, roaring engines, and skidding sounds-- I'll get scared and panicky. Last night a car was roaring it's engine for a few minutes while I sat out in the family room trying to watch a movie. I literally sat stock still, heart beating fast, listening and wondering what the hell was going on. Than the car started speeding around the neighborhood, over and over, screeching and skidding for 5 minutes or longer. I was shaking, and crying, and so very scared. I ended up running into my mom's room and hopping onto her bed even though she was trying to sleep. I'm even more afraid that I'll always react this way to car noises. I don't feel safe in my own house anymore, and I'm so incredibly paranoid...I feel like any moment something else will crash into our house.

But really...all because I was attacked in 8th grade?
When I think about it, it feels like something so little. I was jumped, I was beaten, it was over right?

It was when I lost my childhood though...I forced to grow up right on the spot. It took a few years for me to get over it; I was forced into therapy, pulled away from everyone, and tried to handle my emotion and frightening growth on my own.

It still doesn't feel like it sounds so terrible though. Like, unless you experienced it, you wouldn't understand. Maybe it's because it happened to me while I was a kid.

Someone I had never met before, beat the living hell out of me for brushing up against her in the thin Jackson Middle School hallway. She spun me around in circles and pounded my face. I never swung back, all I could do was think. There was a teacher standing there the entire time and she DID NOT MOVE OR STOP IT. I could see her still standing there, while I was spinning, and numb. It hurt but I didn't feel a thing. It was a strange experience. All the while, the girls friends kept screaming at me, and words of encouragement to their friend, "Kill the white girl!".
Jesus Christ, was I going to die?
It felt like it.

At the time, I just kept spinning, and spinning. It wouldn't stop. The teacher did nothing. I couldn't get away, spinning, she kept pounding me, still spinning. I thought that was the end, I thought she was going to beat me to death right than and there. It was terrible, but I felt ashamed to die there. If I died here, this way...I truly felt like it was happening.

When she finally let go or I got away, I don't know, I fell into a fetal position. I didn't feel anything, I just sat on the ground and cried into my hands. It was all black, it was like all I could hear was the sound of my own sobbing in a dark echoing room.
But when I later got home, my back as covered in bruises. Another teacher had also confirmed; She was beating me and kicking at my body while I sat there on the ground.
I mean how sick is that? I didn't even know it was happening, I was lost, I was gone.

And this girl didn't know me. Why did she do this?
She beat me hard enough for doctors to think I had a skull fracture...

I'm shaking as I type this...
Maybe it's also the fact that there was no justice on the part of the school administration.
They didn't do anything about it. The teacher standing there didn't stop it. They wouldn't let us see the tape from the camera above. They suspended her for 3 days, but lucky for me I suppose, her family fled to North Dakota, and there was a warrant out for her arrest.
Also, they would only call it assault.
Any legal definition will tell you that it was far more than that.

Vida's status on Skype: "What doesn't kill you...gives you post traumatic stress disorder."
I thought I was going to die...is that why I have it?

After the incident I likened to calling myself two-face. Half my face was horribly disfigured, while the other looked like me. I didn't realize it also had another meaning for the person I had become as a result.
There were two parts of me vying for control. There was the childlike innocence that was there before, and the new hateful pessimist who was angered by all of it.

My therapist always tried to get me to take pills, to curb the latter, but I always refused. Again, I'm not okay with something else controlling my life or emotions. To this day, I'm proud and very glad of the decision I made. Sure, it was really tough handling things on my own and getting better in my own right, but I became a better person because of it. It took awhile, and I had to navigate a lot of dangerous emotions, but I wouldn't have been able to do that with pills. The pills would have held me back, repress the growth. I had to do that alone.

Because of this, a lot of who I am today is a direct result of who I had to grow into.

If I were to sit my ass down in a comfy chair and cross examine myself...
Hmm.
Well for starters, the whole fear of death thing is very easily explained from this. Or rather, how non-confrontational I am now. I'm scared to get into any heated argument, antagonize, or even question another person for fear of violent retaliation that could possibly take my life away.
I guess in turn, this would than prove to reason why I don't speak up about myself as much either.
I also don't like revealing things like this, because a lot of people talk about things of this nature to get attention or sympathy (which I loathe and DO NOT want to be mistaken for) so I tend to keep things to myself, and possibly than work out problems or ideas on my own.
Thus the independence. For the most part, I don't rely much on other people. I don't NEED other people, it's more a WANT thing which I respect more anyways. If I share something, it's not because I need to, but because I want to. If I spend time with you, WANT not NEED. Plus it's more healthy.
The constant need for freedom. Another good one. Why am I so afraid of being tied down? Right now, I apparently have this thing that controls my anxiety, etc. and that's not okay with me. I feel like I hinder myself, and I want to desperately break free. This than translates into my overall desire to be independent from almost everything. I don't want to be held back by anything...

Really, I think most of my blog entries could be explained like this...which kinda really pisses me off.

Honestly, I'm in denial of having post traumatic stress disorder, but everyone is constantly telling me I do. There is always the nagging voice in the back of my head about it, and I can't help but feel like I have it because that voice is there.
I feel like I'm crazy, or irrational, but most of all I hate having a label on me that could be used to write me off or easily explain how I act.
It's like an excuse.

I'm not okay with excuses either.

This incident knocked my world off it's axis and I was forced to build myself back up again.
I know that without it, I wouldn't be the person I am today.

I wonder, would I still be childish and immature?
Would I be like the rest of the 19 year olds? Would I not understand?

Aside from all the ramble, I rarely share the story at all. It feels sort of liberating to finally get it out there, if only to a few people.

I know a few of my friends from 8th grade are still good friends of mine today. They remember when it happened, and sort of vaguely recall all of the changing I went through...but we usually laugh it off. Mostly I think this is to downplay how hard it was for all of us.

Thankfully I came out of it a better person, at least I like to tell myself so.

Today, all I have as a reminder for me is when I look in the mirror. When I'm very tired, perhaps you have seen, there is a dent that becomes prominent on my right cheek. It's been there now for about 6 years...I wonder if it will always be there? Also, I always notice this more than others I'm sure, but whenever I smile, my noise is crooked, and hooks to the left side. My mom wonders if that girl had broken my nose. I don't think she did, but when I was younger, my nose didn't do this so obviously...

Anyways, it felt good to finally share this story in detail...I never explain this, and I think sometimes I should. I think it would be better if people would understand.

RESPONSE: What makes an Artist anyways...

I don't think it really matters what everyone else says. If they believe they are an artist, that's all fine and dandy, but the rest of us know they aren't.
Being an Artist/Writer/Actor/etc. requires you to earn the title before you can go flaunt it around. Unless you are successful, unless you are making a solid living, unless you have been influential, unless you have made some sort of impact, etc. etc. you can't just call yourself something you're not.
A person going through Med School doesn't go around saying they are a doctor, they have to get the degree, get certified, get a job, and actually be doing it.
I'd be lying if I said I was a writer, because I'm not. Just like those people calling themselves an artist. They have to realistically look at themselves and say...hmm. Does drawing anime make me an artist?
Let's look at a definition here straight from the dictionary...
Artist
1. a person who produces works in any of the arts that are primarily subject to aesthetic criteria.
2. a person who practices one of the fine arts, esp. a painter or sculptor.
3. a person whose trade or profession requires a knowledge of design, drawing, painting, etc.: a commercial artist.
4. a person who works in one of the performing arts, as an actor, musician, or singer; a public performer: a mime artist; an artist of the dance.
5. a person whose work exhibits exceptional skill. (This is you Trung. XD And you're definitely dabbling in a few of the other numbers aren't you?)

In order to be called an 'artist' you HAVE to be actually striving for something much higher.
If you want to be an artist you have to be actively improving your skill, expanding your knowledge, developing a successful trade, and generally doing what is right by the established fine arts. So many people just call themselves an 'artist' and well, they're done. How do you grow off of that? If you think you are there, how can you feel like you've reached a higher point? I think it's sort of like lying to yourself, being lazy, or just not trying hard enough.

Isn't it terribly insulting to great people like Da Vinci, Michael Angelo, etc. that anyone who does something as doodle chibis label themselves an 'artist'? They put themselves in the same category as these people, and that's just not fair. They haven't put in the necessary work for it, it's just wrong.
Same for people who write. If I even THOUGHT of calling myself a writer, I'd slap myself silly. Nothing I do can even constitute being anything close to heralding such a title. I don't deserve it, and won't for a looong time. I have to reach it.

It's not even about being too critical on myself or fishing for compliments or whatever nonsense people will use to defend, it's simply being REALISTIC.

I'm just getting tired of people watering down something that has always been such a prestigious talent.

Sure, in a perfect world filled with sunshine and smiling rainbows and happy bunnies and in a high pitched giddy voice someone shouts from the heavens, "Everyone is a writer! Everyone is an artist! Anyone who can express themselves can be called this, EVERYONE."

It's just simply not true, even though people so readily believe this.

It's nice to think that everyone has something special in them isn't it?
It makes us feel good about ourselves, it makes us feel important, it makes us feel special.
We've literally grown up in a society where everyone is told they have potential and they can do whatever their little heart wishes...

But come on.

The real world has never worked this way, and unfortunately, by allowing everyone to think they are something that they are not, they are setting themselves up for failure.

Unfortunately, about half of the people on DeviantArt aren't going to get any farther than that, and yet they will still steal a term of endearment that does not rightfully belong to them.
They didn't spend the time studying.
They didn't spend the time improving.
They didn't spend the time taking the risks, putting themselves out there, and making a life out of it.

Nope, because "Expressing myself" is all I need to do. Because that's what everyone is going to tell me, because art is easy, writing is easy, and everyone is so god damn special that we all can be called whatever we want.

Well my 4 year old second cousin colored a picture of Peter Pan, didn't keep in the lines, smudged it, and ripped it up. Sure, this is a valid form of expression.
But would you buy it?
Does this impress you?
Will this influence other pieces?
Will this be studied, discussed, analyzed, and revered for a long time?
Are they an artist?


I'm sorry for my extremely narrow-minded view, and I hope I haven't offended, or caused you to disagree with me in anyway, but I like to take these things a bit seriously, and if people aren't going to work at something that needs to be earned, I get a bit testy.
This was definitely a rant, and I'm sure I have not stated my opinions intelligibly, and I feel like I still didn't get my point across perfectly.

Again, I apologize if you don't agree.
Now I'm kind of worried, because I got a bit heated here. =/

Anyways, for the record, I believe you have great potential to be an artist Trung. ;)

That's it.

I'm writing an essay.
It's going to be crazy long, complicated, and absolutely brilliant.
It's going to be called, "Why I loathe Twilight."

Seriously.

I saw so many people today, wearing crazy Twilight shirts that said horrible things like, "Ima love you foreverz because I'm a dependent submissive women, just like my over-protective, pedo of a stalker slave driver vegetarian vampire wants me to be. Also, I like kitchens".
Okay, well, that's not what the shirts said, but that's pretty much what they all translated too.

Also, "And the lamb fell in love with the lion" MAKES ME WANT TO TAKE A GUN TO MY FACE. I get so angry whenever I see/read this. My blood is boiling now that I'm thinking about it. How can someone get so hateful over a stupid line in a stupid book?

Well ladies and gentlemen, I loathe Twilight. That's why.

New person in cafe now, likes Twilight. I think she may be..."special?" Or intelligence may be questioned...

Isn't that horrible? When I judge someone's intellect based on wether or not they like a book?

Because to me, when someone says they like Twilight they are pretty much telling me:
-I don't pay attention to things around me
-I'm self-indulgent, and think of my needs over everyone elses
-The most important thing in life is pleasing my boyfriend, everything to do with my boyfriend comes before everything else in the world.
-I am disrespectful, shallow, and judgemental of other people (lolololol okay, hypocrite alert on that last one, since I'm being all judgemental on Twilight fans, but still)
-I blindly follow fads/ I cannot think for myself/ I don't question things/IF EVERYONE THINKS IT'S BRILLIANT, IT MUST BE, RIGHT? (This one I have a huuuuuuge problem with. I'm deeply concerned based on a political/historical/social spectrum of everything that could possibly go wrong in the world...happens because of these idiots)
-I deny the independence of women, and am some how okay with the idea of a submissive kitchen wife with no future/plans for education or a career who is intent with only making babies and pleasing her man. In a masocistic sort of way, I completely disregard thousands of years of women striving to prove that are capable of more than this.

There is more, and I could go on and on, but that's why I'm thinking of actually writing this all out clearly and, well, 'good'.

Basically, I make snap decisions about somebody based on their liking of Twilight, which is wrong I admit, but is it completely unfounded?

I know you could simply assume, that half the people who enjoy Twilight just read for the fun of it and aren't paying attention to things like that nor are they anaylizing every single bit of every book they read.

But to me, I find that a little frightening. So it's just a book, but it's about 'being aware.'

People aren't going to pay attention to thinks that really should be looked at a little more closely.
It's all about having fun, living your puny little life without a care in the world, cuz hey, what does it matter to me?

I'll remember to point out just how much it matters when the world is run by robots or something in the future. You know, something that could have been avoided if people 'paaaaayed attention.'

Hahaha. /end rant of tangents.

I promise this isn't want any essay would be like, which is the point of structuring it. But I'm seriously sick of it all. I think we should all be writing about it, maybe compile it all together and send it out the publishers.

Someone has to do it I tell you!

The Bitch in the Red Dress.

Moved to Writing for the Sake of Writing where it belongs. >.>

Sorryz.

SOMEBODY ALERT THE PRESS!

My...'tragedy' sense is tingling?


So one of my dogs died last night, the older one, Molly.

Thing is, I think I know around the time it happened.

It was late at night, around 2:30ish when I started to feel that right about now, it was going to happen. It was just kind of a weird feeling, and all of the memories of Molly began flooding through my mind, one by one. My brother told me to think about saying my goodbyes because she wasn't looking too good lately, but at this point and time during the night, I knew that it was already too late.


A few weeks ago, one of the regulars who comes into the cafe, Jolene, showed me pictures of their latest renovations on the house. In one of the pictures was an adorable little Pit Bull, and I gushed on how cute I thought she was. So she told me all about the little tyke, "Gypsie" and told me that she has a problem with her heart, like some Pit Bulls do (There are a lot of health problems with this breed). So they've wanted to make Gypsie's little life the best she could ever have, and Jolene, like most dog users, regards Gypsie as her baby, a member of the family.
So I thought it was really weird, when one day a week or so after she had told me about her dog, and not having ever thought of it again or Jolene really outside of work on my own free time...an overwhelming feeling that something was going to happen to her dog rested on my mind all day. Once it passed, I didn't think anything of it. Until of course, Jolene came into work a few days later, rather upset and told me that her and Chuck had just come back from a trip to Georgia to find out from her sister that her dog Gypsie had suffered a fatal heart attack while they were gone.
I was kind of in shock, a little, I mean. I wasn't sure why I was thinking about her dog at all, or feeling like something was going to happen...and than turns out something did, and her dog had died. I just found it incredibly strange at the time.

But than I've been thinking, it's kind of always how I've been.

Recently, when that big storm was going on last weekend and everyone was freaking out in our area, I remember sitting very calming in the basement. While I was listening to all of the updates on the news, I just sort of sat there and thought for a moment...considered my feelings, where I was at mentally, and knew I was going to be okay. I thought for my brother and mother, yeah, they'd be fine, and I went back upstairs during all the warnings and crazy weather because I knew I'd be safe.

Not to mention a day before that drunken car fiasco I had been on my toes. I wasn't sure how I was feeling, because I felt like something bad was going to happen, but I didn't feel at the same time that anything bad was going to happen to any of us. It was really confusing, but when it happened, I feel that I was sort of ready for it? I immediately sprung into action, regardless of my whole body shaking, I never once froze, and I worked as quickly as possible to get all the necessary aid. I was all prepared to talk her out of the shock too, and would have if the firefighter wasn't already taking care of her.

I don't know, I find this all rather interesting, and could probably think of many more incidents where I had some sort of feeling before it happened. Call it womanly intuition or mere coincidence, but I think that sometimes I'm more in tune with my surroundings than I think.

Besides I think everyone is capable of sensing some things like this...it's whether or not that person is paying attention to their thoughts and feelings to actually notice or care.

On the topic of secrets...

You know what I'd love to do right now?

Have a sleep over with you Trung.

Like, stay up all night doing the things we do, go off on tangents, until we get all tuckered out. Turn off the lights, try to fall asleep and swap secrets.

Just...the kind of stories or really personal things you don't really talk about to anyone you know? Until that moment, when you're lying there in the dark, contemplating about where you've been, what you want to do, things that scare you, things you're ashamed of, happy memories, etc. etc. Silence from the other person, as they listen to you, really listen. Everything is quiet, the world is sleeping, lights off, just the voice of a familiar soul.

That's when you really hear somebody. I feel like, there is so much going on during the day, so many distractions, so many worries, so many responsibilities, desires, so much noise. The world is so loud.

I need this.

Once, I was at a bonfire sophomore year and there was about 30 people there. There was laughing, yelling, people running around, branch fights, everything you could imagine. And me and the host decided to go for a walk.

She was one of those ditzy girls, always laughing all over the place, asking the meaning of things, falling over herself all the time. At least, that's what everyone saw right?

We both laid in the grass, away from all the ruckus and just looked up at the stars.

It felt quiet there, and so beautiful. And she was calm, and she was intelligent, thoughtful, everything you never thought was there. We had one of the best conversations I can remember, we shared so much about ourselves, it was surreal. She told me things she had never spoken to another person, and I did the same. It felt so relaxing for once. Taking off the mask.

Not that I'm wearing a mask around you, but I feel like there are a lot of things I don't share. I don't share it with anyone. Recently, I've felt a great deal of information wanting to break out of me, I don't know how to handle it.

I've been posting a lot of really strange blogs on here, and none of them make much sense. The language and desire to share is lost between all the ramblings and hurry to be rid of the thought. They feel silly and immature to me. It's just not right. It's not coming out the way I want.

Anyway, I'm sitting up right now. Not doing anything in particular, but feeling like I have something to do. You know where you're telling yourself, "Get off the computer, time for bed, there is nothing left to do, you don't need to be up this late for nothing, sleep please." But you just can't...something left unfinished. You spend hours trying to find what it is, but you never do until you can barely keep your eyes open.

I feel like this is it.

I was thinking. About all the things I want, need, to share.
And I was thinking, wouldn't it be lovely if I were having one of those late night conversations with Trung right now?

That would have been lovely.

Oh Trung, why did we have to be the opposite gender? I feel like this couldn't be allowed to happen, even though your glaringly obvious attraction to men. You still have the tool that could result in my pregnancy, therefore, I doubt either parental unit would be okay with it.

Bah. Who knows.

I guess maybe I could post a secret a night? Or we could exchange secrets or something? Or stories, or profound thoughts and the like. I mean, we pretty much do this now, but there is just something about not holding back in the dark while you struggle to stay awake in the world of reality before slipping away to dreamland.

They are waiting for me I suppose...

Hmmm. Sometimes I feel like the only time the real me ever surfaces is at this hour of night...
No one sees who I think I am. I am in my head. I go to sleep with the image of me every night.
But I believe there is a time...where I'm ready to close the book on the day, and the Sophia I think I am is stirring awake from her fantasy ride and we become one for the briefest of moments.

And that's when the best conversations happen.

Good night sweetheart, and pleasant dreams kiddo.

I'll wave goodbye in the morning.

My Secret Best Friends?

(This is long, and nonsense. I just felt like writing to myself about it I suppose. Nothing actually worth reading here, all fictional. XD)

I love sleeping.

Whenever I close my eyes, I know another adventure is about to begin. I know it's a lot better than the real world too, and I like to sleep as much as possible.

It's a familiar world. I've been there my entire life, and there are many things waiting for my nightly return. Unfinished tasks, new problems to solve, foes to vanquish, and a handful of friends whom I miss dearly.

Wait, friends? In my dream world?

It's funny, because I didn't realize how much I depend on these friends when I am awake and real until just now. Sometimes I wake up so refreshed, so happy, so imaginative, so...FULL. And I look back and realize it's because I had a lot of fun last night. Sometimes if things don't go well, I wake up feeling empty and miserable and the rest of the day never really picks up.

It's weird, because real-life people usually make up my dream world friends. There are a lot of people I know in real life who are my friends who appear in my dreams. But oddly for the most part, when they show up it is usually to torment me with drama/fights/make me cry, hurt my feelings, etc etc. So, it's only fair that the people who appear with these emotions are the people who have hurt me in the past. Suffice to say, they don't appear all that often, but I prefer it that way.

So who am I friends with in my dreams than?

Well, this is where it gets a bit embarrassing. My friends range from real-life people, to my made-up characters, to complete strangers that I've never met.

Real-life people usually consist of famous people, or someone you see a lot of and sort of create an ideal version of them right? I don't actually know them, but your brain sort of puts the pieces together based on what you've seen or heard about them.

I woke up this morning feeling great, I don't know why, but I was with BoA, and some gorgeous black girl I had never met before last night. We were very close friends though. Both me and the black girl (I don't even know her name!) were helping BoA learn English and taking her all around the Twin Cities and showing her the 'American' culture. It was a lot of fun, and random things happened and actual conversations took place. Also, I thought this was really funny, but at one point, Max Grover appeared, and kindly struck up a conversation and tried to flirt with BoA quite openly, which had me and the other girl rolling our eyes and whispering to each other. Once he sauntered back over to his friends, I immediately grabbed BoA by the arm and told her alll about his targeting of Asian women and how he wanted to get in friendly with her so he could help out his modeling career. Good to word, Max strides over again, and begins asking BoA out in the most egotistical way, to which she politely declines. We laugh it off, and the three of us girls decide we're going to teach BoA how to make a pizza. Fun girl times ensue.

So what? The Asian Brittany Spears is my best friend? She'd actually give me the time of day? Well in my dream world, yes.
Other ones include Nishikido Ryo of course, but we're just friends, the language barrier is interesting as well, because it comes out in the dream world and we don't speak much, but that's fine with the both of us. When we hang out, it's usually something quite adventurous. Most recently, I randomly decided I was going to get stranded in the world, and make my way around to every country and make a challenge/story out of it! So of course, the first stop is Osaka, where I can pick up Ryo because I want him to come with, because I know he'd secretly love too. He's hesitant at first, gets a little angry at me for being so crazy about it, than reluctantly agrees. Amazing Traveling Adventure ensures. Seriously, it was reaaaally great. I feel like writing about all the things we did, it was so fantastical, I'd like to expand on it and add some more scenes to it.
Another one who I was really good friends with was Brooke Davis/Sophia Bush. I'm not sure which one it actually was, but I'm assuming it was fictional Brooke Davis since I would know more about her than Sophia. Back when I'd be watching One Tree Hill all the time, Brooke in my dreams was a constant presence, she was my best friend, and we did everything together. I haven't seen her in awhile actually, mostly because I don't think or care for One Tree Hill anymore, but I do miss her, and wonder how she's doing? I think that's the craziest thought so far!

As for made up characters, Max and Demi and the most frequent. We know everything about each other, so there isn't that dynamic where you actually learn more about your friends or get to know them. Which is a bit sad really, and they don't show up often. I suppose they appear when I am in the need for something quick, comedic, and full of shenanigans. That's what those two are good for.

And than there are the people I don't know, at all. There are a lot of faces that appear repeatedly, but I don't know there names, or who they are, but apparently we have an established relationship and they are there for me. Weeeird. Once such strange person was, after the drunken teenagers ran their car into our tree, and I saw that blonde chick covered in blood, she haunted my dreams, but as my friend? I was worried about her, and wondered if she was okay, and we became friends in dream world. It was so weird, except I didn't get a warm feeling from that, more of a traumatic shaky feeling. I didn't want to see her, and once more of the story became clear and I learned how rude and how the whole scenario was her fault, she did not appear in my dream again. Thank god, but I just thought it was weird.

So, what the hell? I have a completely different world that I go to sleep for. Different friends, different everything. I think it's crazy, apparently I fantasize about friendships lol. Oh well, I'm just not sure what that means. Maybe I'm subconsciously looking for adventure, and real world friends can't give that to me. It's not their fault, neither of us have the time or money to do anything remotely adventurous, but you can do all that in your dreams. And I guess for now that is enough.

Oh, and you have shown up a bit Trung, but never to hurt my feelings. When you do appear, it's mostly to join in on all the fun. Like, it's me and you, and than whoever the crazy person is who takes us both on a wild adventure. I think that's kind of cool actually, like, subconsciously, you're sitting next to me on the roller coaster, we're in it together always kind of thing.

I dunno! Nonsense! I thought I'd share. ;) For myself mostly, like anyone would really read this. XD

Girls Play Too.

Warning: I'm about to get all feminist on this blog.

*sigh* So, I'm watching tv. A commerical comes on. Some girly pop song singing, "Girls play toooooo!" plays on repeat, while little girls are seen playing Hannah Montana on the PSP. Oh yes. Girls play video games too, so hardcore are these girl gamers, they play Hannah Montana. And since these are GIRL GAMERS they have packaged an exclusive Hannah Montana skinned PSP, you know, something that the girl gamers want. Because they play too.

What.The.Fuck.

I know it's for marketing purposes, but I'm SICK of the whole thing. In order for a girl to LIKE video games it has to be Barbie games,HSM, Hannah Montana, etc. etc. ETC. These stupid games are pushed on every little girl, and no higher up actually takes in to consideration that...hmmm. Maybe girls like playing the same games guys do? BLASPHEMY!

Guy gamers know it, they know we play WoW, Halo, Grand Theft Auto, all of those exceedingly boyish games, and yet the media/executives/designers are still under the delusional that 'Girl Gamers' is still a myth.

Take G4 for example. It started off as a channel directly targeting video gamers, and well, 17-30 something men. It had everything there that you ever needed to know about video games. Buuuut, the only female presence(s) on the show were young slender gorgeous women that had NO IDEA what they were talking about. They weren't gamers, they were there for the eye candy. Because girls don't play do they? Why would they watch a channel dedicated to video games? NOW, G4 is losing it's video game edge and is almost entirely targeting the male audience now, appearing more like a 2nd Spike Network for the younger/tech-savy generation. Thanks guys, I really did like watching shows on that channel, but it's getting exceedingly annoying when my presence is CONSTANTLY ignored.

Comic-Con just happened, and you know what the main focus of female presence is there? You got it. Booth Babes. Girls don't play games, they stand there half naked by a booth with 40-something hairy mangeeks salivating all over them and the designers and producers of the game company sit there proudly knowing that anyone coming to their booth for actual knowledge on the development for their newest title will remember them fondling because of their hot hot blonde busty blonde twins.

It's like one big fucking joke. What's the image of a girl gamer anyways? Is she overweight? Devastatingly UNATTRACTIVE? Ungroomed, boyish, weirdo crazys that know one wants to talk to? Oh, and the smell of FUNK?

Why the hell can't a normal girl play video games without being force feed High School Musical for the Wii? Why are we constantly seeing Carrie Underwood, Liv Tyler, and so on playing the DS as another standard of unrealistic aspirations of a girl involved with video games? WHY CAN'T BOOTH BABES KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THE GAME THEY ARE MODELING FOR? Why can't they even be intelligent for that matter? (Speaking entirely based on all of them being interviewed by G4 on Comic-Con Live, all together the total IQ of all of them can't reach double digits).

I am a girl gamer. I am a girl geek. I am an Internetz savy girl. I am a Star Wars girl.
I am no different than any other guy who likes the same things that I do, and the higher ups better get that damn straight.

Pass me the Henny and Apple Juice.

Hipsters annoy me. Well, not generally. Just the snobby ones. Those are the kids who so wholly hate the mainstream that they’ll go to great lengths to make sure that nobody listens to the bands they like, reads the authors and poets they read, or enjoy the same artists as they do. Best of all, they have the audacity to trust their own tastes well enough to discern what materials have worth and what does not, which is fine, but they also happen to scoff at everyone else. The frequency at which they make sweeping qualitative judgments based on their own personal whims is always astounding, yet it has ceased to amuse me.

Within the art community, there has long been this somewhat controversial aspect of “high art” and “low art.” High art refers to almost any manifestation of traditional art that was created in the periods of high art, like the High Classical periods of Greek antiquity or the High Renaissance works widely commissioned by the power-grabby fingers of the Catholic institution at the time. Low art refers to pretty much any art that has mass appeal, which, to my understanding covers pretty much everything made after about the 13th-ish century. The appeal of high art and high culture lies heavily in the technical mastery of those creating the works, especially considering that everything was done the longest way possible. The refinement was in the clear mastery every artist had over his (they were all dudes at the time) chosen medium. Low art is a somewhat derogative term for popular culture, referring to the McDonaldization of art.

The concept of high vs. low art has always been criticized as being elitist, and I agree, if only with the semantics and the qualitative aspect of it. It really is elitist. I’m a novice; I don’t know how to make qualitative judgments about any kind of art on a deep level. Sure, I can kinda gauge technical skill, but that’s all I got.

So this whole new generation of hipster-indie kids… irks the very calluses on the ends of my toes. Why? Because they uphold their own version of the elitist concept of high art and low art… except their concept doesn’t really have any sense of technical refinement.

Elitism without the refinement.

Trashy elitism?

Beautiful.

More negativity

Aaaagh… Why? Why?! Why did I go and do that tonight?

I’m more temperamental than I’d like to admit.

I like to get things done my way, so I do it all myself; my bad moods affect people close to me, so I’m totally comfortable being distant and unemotional; I’d be very hostile when my mood is interrupted, so I like to keep to myself.

“Most people don’t know this, but I don’t have much of an inner calm. I actually have this consistent outer calm that tends to ripple every now and then in accordance with my roiling inner lack of calm.”

Most people with whom I have developed very close relationships have some level of understanding of why I don’t fall all over everybody with sticky-sweet, gooey love and affection. Once I’m a friend, I’ll stay a friend regardless of how long it’s been since we last interacted. I’m not a high-maintenance friend; my friendship requires minimal upkeep. I really like my space, and I like to respect everyone else’s.


So I’m a little distant and, to the less-than-patient people, I’m an apathetic loner. I promise I’m not. I know and love enough people to die happy and fulfilled (not that I’d want to die anytime soon), and I know there’s very little I would refuse them. And there’s the preface.

Now, facebook is fun to play with. Since I’m also highly sentimental, I like to flip through the pages of my messages to see what I’ve been up to within the past year. It’s a past-self/present-self interaction. It helps me stay outer-calmed.

It’s therapy.

But tonight was a bit of a different story. After weeks and weeks of artist’s block, a couple nights of pent-up annoyance at numerous things, and an hour or so of “tidying up” my already tidy room, I flip through about the 28th page of my old messages. You just have to tweak the numbers in the address bar to jump to a ridiculous numbered page.

One name stood out.

Recently, I’ve taken to using his name in casual conversation without flinching, and I’d even gotten all fifteen pages of his birthday comic out in a public gallery for the whole world to see (well, all of dA, anyway). It used to sink me into an immovable depression to even think of him, but something new definitely came out of the emotive folds when I committed the cardinal ex-boyfriend sin, the ultimate transgression of self-dignity; I reread the old messages.

MAN, it makes me sick to even think about being in love again. All that mushiness, all that sacrifice, all that understanding… it makes my stomach churn. It’s a real blow to my pride to think of all the things I would have been ready to give up at the drop of a hat because I thought he’d like it that way. It also didn’t help that I was terrified of his parents at the time because, for some inexcusably stupid reason, their opinion of me mattered. I actually allowed someone else to have an opinion about me. That’s how bad it was.

Now, though, there wasn’t even so much as an annoying twinge of sadness or despondency.

Now I’m just enraged.

I want to find him and bash his face in with my foot. Repeatedly. Ruthlessly. Rhythmically (you know, so I can expend all my anger and frustration in even, measured spurts for the benefit of my own little neurotic tendencies).

I kept thinking to myself, “He witnessed it… it witnessed me at my lowest, most pathetic altruistic self. I want there to be no witnesses.”

I sound like the premise of a CSI episode.

I do recognize, though, that beyond my long-constrained inner rage, there was a time when I would feel ok if the world as I knew it faded out of my memory as long as someone special to me remained the constant. Admitting it is humiliation.

And I’d give almost anything to be able to feel that strongly again.

Negativity... a post long overdue

This past weekend, my family and I went over to my mom's old English teacher's house to have dinner. We covered a great deal of topics, from jail-time in Commie-occupied Vietnam to social justice activism, and I was really pleased with the present company. The week before it, I went to a screening of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince with some of my closest friends, and before then I went to see Night at the Museum 2 with some of my oldest (and some of my only) guy friends.

It was a great time, to be sure. I felt awesome, and, for a little while, I found myself totally satisfied with my life as it is.

Then I got to thinking that it was a rare moment that I got to feel that way in college.

Mind you, I do have friends in college, but no matter how close to my college friends I am, I can't help but feel something lacking. It's not all of them, either. Just most of them. My roommate's definitely someone I can spend time with and feel perfectly at home, and the kids from MISA are a very comfortable group of people for me to hang out with (although we're always so busy that we rarely have a moment to spend together).

To make this post a little more compact, I’ll just say that too many of my college friends are overwhelmingly negative people. It affected the way I felt and the things that I did and the interests I took up, and I really don’t like it. I suppose the old grin-and-bear-it routine fooled me over anyone else.

Now what do I do?

Ah. It feels like Con season...

The Sci-Fi Convention was in early July.
Otakon just finished?
And either Comic-Con is now/in a bit/or just over?
Not to mention some anime thing was a few months ago I think...

Anyways, I've only been to the Sci-Fi convention, and since I don't like anime, me going to Otakon would be pointless but...

God I want to go so baaaad.

I want to go to all of them. Not to mention Comic-Con is like my E3 convention. One day, one day.

See, I never dressed up at the Sci-Fi convention, and the person I was with the whole time didn't either, and we never did ANYTHING because she had seen everything a million times before. So. We just kinda sat in chairs, and I listened to her life dramas. I didn't get to see or really experience the geeky side of it all.

And I mean really, that's what it's all about right?

You get together a group of geeky losers, you all dress up (looking like losers), than you take pictures and videos of all of you acting like a bunch of retards/losers, and it's all absolutely ridiculous and not funny at all but...you have a friggin' BLAST!
Everyone else there is just as ridiculous as you and just as much a loser. Nobody judges you, nobody cares. Actually, the more of a loser you are, the more praise/squees/hugs you get from the general populous!

Well, I really want to be a loser. Right now.

I want to hit up all of these conventions with all of my loser friends, make an ass of myself, look like a tard, and post hundreds of videos and thousands of pictures of the whole thing, thinking about how cool I must look.

Doesn't that just sound...liberating? Nobody is judging you, people want you to make a fool of yourself. If your fat, so is everyone else. If you're ugly, so is everyone else. If you speak broken, retarded Japanese and spew out random phrases like "Neko Neko! (pronouncing it wrong of course) and the "Desu" bomb (Also pronounced wrong), than hey, everyone else does too.

Ah. It would be a lovely time. When I don't have to worry about how obnoxious I could come across. I don't have to be self-conscious of ANYTHING. I could dress up as my favorite characters, pretend to be them, and people will let me. Heck, they'll even take pictures.

Only problem is...I've separated myself from all of my geeky friends who enjoy things like this...

How in the world can I experience this with out them?

:/

What a Girl Wants.

*Sigh*

That's a good sigh by the way. One with the eyes closed, a smile on my face.

I've been in sort of a lovey dovey mood as of late, and I promise there is no reason for it whatsoever. There hasn't been any new meeting with a handsome fellow or any new happenings for that matter. I've just sort of been swooning all over the place, and I'm perfectly content with just that.

So I've been doing a lot of thinking, and fantasizing about what I want.

So. I just feel like. Gushing all over this blog. In complete randomosity mind you.

First up is *swooooon* Nishikido Ryo. It's not just that he's Asian or that he's gorgeous, great singer, lovely actor yadda yadda. Those are all labels, they're not who he is on the inside right?
From what I've gathered, which is a lot (I like to swoon over his translated interviews and blogs, and does that boy have a lot of them) he's a very poetic kind of soul. He's shy, he's quiet. He loves to keep to himself. He wants to adventure all over the world (I know right? Soulmate? XD) He reads in his spare time, and he loves to analyze what he's reading. He enjoys music, he really loves playing guitar. He prefers to sit at home and watch a movie. He sees things the way I see things, he doesn't under appreciate life and he doesn't worry needlessly over things that don't matter. He prides himself in being a professional, and he loves to cook.
Plus, he believes in 'living his life in a way that he can accept'. Which means he never wants to look back and say, "Hmm. I could have done that better." He lives to make sure that never happens. I love him for that, for giving me that strength in myself and striving to do the same.

Next, I was watching National Treasure today...just, spontaneously. I was thinking how attractive Benjamin Gates was. Not Nicholas Cage (I'll pass), but his character. The history geek, who spewed facts and was excited over anything from the past. The one who thinks logically, is good at figuring out puzzles, protecting his friends and family, and his sense of adventure. Than I thought of Indiana Jones, who I've always been crushing over, and heck, even Tom Hanks character in Angels and Demons/DaVinci Code. I would be so intoxicatingly happy if I had a man like that. Being some what of a history enthusiast myself, I can just see me melting over anyone who rattled off facts whenever they saw something that turned on their handsome little lightbulb.

Now how about my cunning scoundrel? Han Solo...since I've been a little girl, I have loved forever. *gush*

I watched Paris Je'Taime the other day. Some of them didn't really affect me at all, some were more powerful than others, but the overall feel of it made me feel all giddy for love on the inside. I was a little irritated that my dreamboat Gaspard was playing a gay boy in a very cute scene in where he confesses to a complete stranger in French that he thinks he's found his soulmate and dashes off, only for the stranger to have no idea what he was saying because he didn't speak French, but strangely finds himself running after Gaspard anyways. I don't need my list being teased with another potential addition thank you very much, even if it is acting. XD

So the new Harry Potter is coming out, I'll be seeing it tomorrow night. I'm beginning to think this feeling I've been experiencing has to do with it. I've been literally feeling abnormally large amounts of affection for every lead actor/actress and their characters in question. I watched the fifth film, and felt so over powered with love for the movie, I teared up when it started and when it ended, just because I thought it was so beautiful. XD

The morning, and the sun and smell of it...I'm in love with that as well. Hmmmmm! Lovely!


Anyways, I didn't know what to do with myself, I've just been sitting around all day, thinking about love and whatnot. Giggling madly to myself and with a big goofy grin on my face.

Hah! How sad it is that all of the above around fictional people/characters. I don't know Ryo or the Harry Potter actors, so they would practically be fiction in and of themselves since you create an image based on what little information you know.

Oh well, I enjoy being in my little dream world about it all, it's safe in here. There is no awkward, inexperience, and I don't have to think about it ever happening, just get to enjoy the feeling. ;)

Back to my swooning!

I'm a little teapot!

So I finally sat my little butt down and finished one strip. It didn't take very long, but I'll be trying my darndest to get as much done as possible before the school year comes around. I just got a loan proposal from Wells Fargo, too! I'm so excited. I can borrow up to 25 grand a year! Whoot!

Anyhoosies, here's a product of my labors. LABOR OF LOOOOOOOOOOVE!!! <---[yeah...]

Oh my, lookee here...

Seven-ish hours of piddly-widdly, mouse-clicking fun.
Just for you, sweetie.

I really gotta get that tablet...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

The Lady of the Cafe

I learned today that I am a hypocritical jerk. I'm very much embarrassed about what I am about to share with you, but for the most part I am dreadfully ashamed.

Today I came into work at 4pm. My new coworker was there, and we got to hang out for an hour. She's a sweet girl, who always has a smile on her face. I've never heard a single negative thing out of her mouth, and I don't think it's possible either. Mari and her mom came into to visit during the hour as well, we chatted a bit and I prepared her order. After Mari and her mother took their seat, and old woman came up to the counter and I recognized her immediately.

It's no secret that a lot of crazies come to the cafe, and this woman was no exception. I remembered serving her once before in where I had to discuss with her and help her figure out which of the omelet sandwiches she wanted. We only have two, one with sausage, one with spinach. She insisted that she ordered sausage las time but was given something else, and it tasted really good and that's what she would like. Sounds simple right? Obviously she had the one with spinach. Well, the conversation took 15 minutes regardless until she finally ordered the spinach and took her seat. After she took her bite, she proceeded to exclaim quite loudly that it indeed was the right sandwich. "THANK YOU! This tastes amazing! Oh my gosh, this is great. THANK YOU, this is the one! Mmmmmgrh!" All from the very back of the cafe, the other customers looked around at her as if she lost her mind. I remember being quite amused, but also slightly put off with her craziness.

This time, when she walked up to the counter, I fully expected her to be that way. The transaction took awhile, but it was mostly due to her being slow at figuring things out. She'd want a Coke, and I would tell her we did not have fountain drinks, so I would offer a root beer instead. She'd want a cup of ice cream to make a float, and we had to find out what the price was. Either way, the transaction was painless, and she walked back to her seat, the same one she sat in the back of the cafe the last time we met.

All was well, Kamila and I were goofing around up front. But than you hear a loud "Aaggaghr!". I know who it is. I'm sure I know what it's about. I stare forward and pretend I didn't hear it. "hey". I don't hear anything, at least that's what I'm convincing myself. "Maam!". *Sigh*.
I walk over and she's having trouble with opening her root beer, I tell her it's a twist off. She asks if I can help her with it, so I begrudgingly agree. "I tried to get it off, but it cut my skin, look!" She showed me, it hadn't bleed and I didn't really care, especially since I was cutting my own hand in the process of opening her drink. Walking back to the cafe, I of course made a face that can only be translated as-" Omg this bitch is crazy". Kamila laughed a little, and I whispered to her the entire story from last time.

Later, Kamila was cleaning up, and the crazy lady began talking to her. I didn't know what she was talking about, it didn't matter, I was busy shooting Kamila wide-eyed looks of crazy horror and laughing at her misfortune.

When Kamila returned, we ran into the back to talk about what had just transpired. Good Kamila, innocent Kamila, whispered to me quite embarrassed what the lady had said. "She said she lost her fake teeth at McDonalds." She giggled and I broke out laughing. I kept on laughing even when Kamila was finished, and I was loud. This lady. She was crazy.

We were both out front now, and the lady called again. "Maam." Wide-eyed again, I'm amused because I'm being such a jerk, and ignore her again. Kamila can't hear her either, but she isn't pretending. "Girls!" I mutter an expletive, and pop my head up with a smile. The lady asks if we had seen what was on her shirt and bag. Both had patriotic 4th of July United States on them. She told us she got each for only $3 at Walmart. I feigned interest, and Kamila nodded. She said she always told the kids about good deals, since we work so hard and money is hard to come by. I agree. And before she can say more, I run in the back again and laugh at her ridiculousness. But I am alone.

Kamila leaves for the night, and it's just me. Another one of my coworkers visits with me, before he is called over by the lady. I'm curious, and also amused that her craziness is now reaching someone else. He comes back over to get a comment card for her, they talk for 20 minutes. I'm horribly curious now. I'm waiting, I want him to finish up and tell me about her craziness so I can laugh at her expense some more. My supervisor is shelving books nearby, and unwilling to make fun on my own, I walk over to her and tell her that the lady sitting over there is CRAZY. My supervisor is intrigued and walked over briefly, listens to their conversation for a second than comes back and agrees with me.
More time passes, and the lady is walking over to me. She hands me the comment card and says, "He told me to give this to you. He said you would know where to put it. It's my idea." I nodded and smiled, I told her I'd give it to my supervisor. She told me I could read it if I wanted. I simply nodded, thinking to myself how silly she must be to think her crazy idea could possibly mean anything to me and wondered if perhaps she wanted the satisfaction of having such a good idea I'd read it and proclaim how wonderful a genius she was. "I promise I will deliver it for you." She looks at me, and I don't know whether she is skeptical or slightly disappointed that I did not read her idea nor did I care too.

Of course I am curious, I spent the entire time waiting to see what her crazy idea was so I read the comment card. It was a bit illegible at parts.

I come here a lot for your great coffee I look at the photos of Seattle,

the people in the boat; think, "I'd love to go there"-

Then I got this idea for your company-to increase business have a

drawing for a paid round trip ticket to Seattle via entrance so then someone could

see your coffee plant.

((Yeah fucking right. This lady is crazy))

I'm on disability so I don't have the money but would appreciate the chance in

a raffle. I want to be able to put a red umbrella in my cup too-I've struggled thru

the years from a head injury, but now I am alright so enjoy seeing and doing things

I never could before and I love your coffee.

Thanks <3

Linda

(she leaves her contact information)

I immediately feel sick. My chest clenches up and my blood runs cold, I feel my body tense, and that horrible feeling well up in the pit of my stomach.

Here I was, judging a person I did not know, thinking the things I thought, saying the things that I did...all the things I hated. I was the very essence of everything I detest about a person who passes judgement on others. I never thought to consider this lady's story, never thought there was a reason for her slow take on things or her strange speech. I simply wrote her off as crazy and laughed at her. Really, nothing makes me more ashamed of myself than to admit this.

Reading her comment card doesn't feel like it could be that much of an impact, but I realized that she was just like me in certain aspects. It sounds like she wants to escape to a better life. Think, she had been struggling previously, saw the pictures and thought of how beautiful a place Seattle is. A beauty that probably can't be found in her life now, she wanted to meet that beauty, she's filled with the overwhelming desire to make that happen. She wants to do things that she could never do before, she wants to finally enjoy her life and live her adventure the way it was meant to be, the way she always wanted it to be. I respect this, and admire anyone who thinks this clearly about their own destiny. It didn't matter if she won...the simple chance of being able to go was all she needed, the thought of it being a possibility was enough. God, why did I have to act that way?

When did I become such a sadistic bastard?

I watch her now, and I see that she is chatting very animatedly with a few of the other customers. I look and notice that they are smiling and nodding with her, but they aren't being fake. They are genuinely interested in what she has to say. Why couldn't I be like that? She is telling them stories, and some times they draw close together, looks of shock appear on there faces, some look concerned. They talk for hours. I imagine that she is sharing some life changing story, sharing some deep and profound wisdom. Perhaps she is relaying her struggles and how her outlook on life is vastly different now. Maybe she is teaching them new things they never thought of before. Possibly, she is in the process of changing their lives.

I want her to change my life too. I want her to have a positive impact on me. I wonder why I didn't listen to her before. Why didn't I give her a chance? Would I have acted the same way toward Socrates if he had arrived and begun asking his strange questions? Would I have let him open my mind?

She and her listeners leave while I'm occupied in the back. I never got a chance to smile, wave, wish her a good night. Never got to tell her I would be sure to get her comment card delivered. Never got to say that I liked her idea.

So I took the comment card with me when I clocked out. I was going to give it to my supervisor. I was going to make sure that she at least had the chance for her idea to reach someone else because that would have been enough at least.

She arrives and I hand it too her. I tell her it is from before, I was asked to give it to her because I didn't know what to do with it.

"From the crazy lady?" My supervisor takes it and reads the first 5 lines that I did when I wrote off her idea originally. "Pfft. Yeah. All this lady wants is a free trip."

My supervisor looks at me, than she rips the comment card in half.

"Yup. I just did that."

I'm silent. I don't feel a thing. I stressed and thought about what was on that comment card all night.

If I wasn't so eager to make fun of her to other people, my supervisor wouldn't have dismissed the card so easily. She probably would not have read it, or perhaps she would have finished it and had been touched. But no, I put it in her head that this was coming from a crazy lady. My mouth and my bad attitude ripped that card in half. Still numb.

"You can just go, I don't need to check. If you steal anything I'll shoot yah."

If I could only be that lucky...there it was. I broke my promise for starters, but most of all I stole away Linda's chance at escape, I stole her chance of experiencing beauty. I think I deserved to be shot.

I failed the test, Trung.