The Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed in the Sun

My favorite books of all time make me feel very uncomfortable. The words are not cold and the situations are not rude. Instead, the very story makes me uncomfortable in my own skin. When I am finished, I feel like I should be doing something. I feel a desperate need to create that crawls through my veins, almost to the point that I can see it happening. My fingers itch to write something - anything - down, but, at the same time, my legs want to run. I get excited, and a little sick, and very inspired - but inspired for what, I don't always know.

I have two "stories" ("stories" are not books. Books are finished. Stories are on-going methods of masochism) that I am working on right now. One is a secret, and one is about a serial killer. I have a good idea of the secret, but not so for the serial killer. It's more like a collection of luminous bubbles floating around in my head. They're there, and I can feel them when they touch me, but they either burst or find some way to escape and become something else entirely. If I could catch onto them, or discipline myself to go on without them, the "story" would be a book by now, and the welts in my brain would have healed themselves. But I can't. I feel like the bubbles contain something genius, and I don't want to abandon them for fear that what I come up with would not be as good.

There's a Chinese legend about a carp that swims upstream and becomes a dragon. It's associated with Children's Day in Japan, where they fly carp streamers. The symbolism of it interests me. Even though it's celebrated in Hawai'i, I've only ever seen the carps. I've never seen anything else involved with Children's day. When I think of it, I see children holding their carps on poles, waiting to grow up and become dragons themselves. Right now, all of my "stories" are carps. Eventually, they will Become, as Dolarhyde would say.

Soundtrack of My Life

Recently (and, by recently, I mean: four months ago) I "rediscovered" my passionate, not-so-well-meaning, and very passive love of Slipknot. Even if I hadn't listened to them for some time, I would call myself a maggot in passing. To fans of Lady Gaga, I would explain, "You are a monster, I am a maggot," all the while thinking, teeth gritted, "and my group could kick your group's ass." True story. But I no longer listen to them when I'm upset... mostly because I'm not upset so very often anymore.

For an idea of what kind of music I listen to on a daily basis, let's go to my iPhone Youtube history (a log of the non-iTunes songs I listen to). This is listed in order of listening, not liking.

Duality - Slipknot

Left Behind - Slipknot

Tick-Tock - Ke$ha

What the Hell - Avril Lavigne

Sweet Child O' Mine - Guns and Roses

Kaboom - Marilyn Manson

(sic) - Slipknot

You Spin Me Around - Dope

You're Going Down - Sick Puppies

Albannach at the Edinburgh Festival

My Immortal (rock remix) - Evanescence

Jar of Hearts - Christina Perri

You Belong With Me - Taylor Swift

Circle of Life - Lion King

Songbird - Fleetwood Mac

Broken - Seether featuring Amy Lee

Yeah - Usher

Engel - Rammstein

Misery Loves Company - Emilie Autumn

Okay, so that's a lot of Slipknot... but it's actually much more diverse than it used to be. I mean, Usher and Avril Lavigne and - for crying out loud - Ke$sha are in there. I call that personal growth.

RIP, 2010. AFGO.

“Don’t take anything personally - Nothing others do is because of you. What others say and do is a projection of their own reality, their own dream. When you are immune to the opinions and actions of others, you won’t be the victim of needless suffering.” - Don Miguel Ruix's Code For Life.

When you're standing in front of a work of art, and the person beside you says “That is the worst thing I have ever seen,” it is not fair of them. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Different people see, think and believe different things. What you think, and what you do, is your own. It is your power as a person, to see beyond what others think, and to count on your own judgment and instincts before those of others. They are not necessarily wrong, and they are not necessarily right, but they are your own, and you owe it to your conscious to listen to yourself before others.

“No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” - Eleanor Roosevelt.

People have only as much power over you as you let them. Respecting the opinions of others, and letting them control you entirely, are completely different acts. No one has the right to control another's emotions. No one has the right to control another person. Obey your superiors; respect the opinions of the wiser; but choose for yourself whom you truly believe to be your superior, the wiser. Allow yourself to hear your own voice before you hear the voices of others. This, in the end, is the voice you have to listen to at night.

“The basis of shame is not some personal mistake of ours, but that this humiliation is seen by everyone.” - Milan Kundera.

The strongest families are not necessarily bound by blood, but by trust. Gather around you those you trust, and no one can hurt you. Immeasurable love is the greatest shield to the barbs of the insecure, those who do not have this luxury. Confide yourself to those who would never repeat it, except to ease your suffering. Open yourself to those who can heal you. Close yourself to those who have hurt you.

I believe that people are only truly strong when they admit they are weak. I believe that blaming others is a coward's escape. My beliefs won't change the world. My hopes won't affect the universe. If I had the answers, I would not be the victim or subject of needless suffering. If I believed in myself more than others, I would not be inferior. If I surrounded myself only with unconditional love, I would not be ashamed. These are my resolutions. Not to change the whole world, but just to change my own.

Who is this irresistible creature who has an insatiable love for the dead?

Things New With Beka:

1 – Webkinz. I love Webkinz. I have a lot. I like playing with them, buying and decorating their little rooms and I don't care if it's for little kids; I enjoy it. I don't actually play with the stuffed animals, but I do keep them sort of on display in my room.

2 – Rob Zombie. This is not new by any stretch of the imagination, but I love Rob Zombie and recently my Pandora has been playing a lot of him, Breaking Benjamin, Sick Puppies, Staind, Disturbed and A Day To Remember. (Which is odd, considering the station is called “Paramore.”) I would like one day to remake the Living Dead Girl music video. Because it is awesome. It is also much easier to write serial killer novels with Rob Zombie playing. Now if only I could convince Pandora to give me more Slipknot. I got Before I Forget the other day and was freaking thrilled (also got alice nine. and had a mini seizure.)

3 – Peppermint Hot Chocolates. Tastes like mint chocolate chip ice cream. Nuff said.

4 – BeccaTwoC. I LOVES ME SOME BECCA. Becca got an internship thingy, by the way. She's editing crap or something. I didn't really listen because she was very excited and for some reason her excitement turns into jammers in my head (it's a word, google that shit). Not that I don't care. Because I do. I'm just not exactly sure what's going on.

5 – Criminal Minds. It's everything I ever wanted in a show. Except it has less forensics. Criminal Minds and Bones should do a crossover episode. It would be freaking awesome.

I would also like to put this out there: I hate rain. I hate driving in it, I hate walking in it and I hate working knowing that outside is wet. The only thing I like about it is that it can't be sunny and raining at the same time. Except at my bus stop. For some reason, it can be extremely sunny there, and still rainy. That's absolutely ridiculous and I would like to lodge a formal complaint.


Dear God,

Please make up your mind about the weather conditions of my bus stop. You are fucking with my head and I do not approve. Cut the crap and give us a solid choice.

Sincerely,

A Dissatisfied Customer.


Also, what the fuck is up with customers not handing you change? I can understand if I step away from the counter after giving you your total, to pour you a cup of coffee or something; you can set it down then. I am not unreasonable in that way. But if I am holding out my hand and you smack the money on the counter, I'm going to smack your change down on the counter, too, assuming that that is how you want your funds handled. (And, since our counter is for tips, I will assume that your change is a tip and keep my $18.68, thank you very much.)

STOP.
…
Papercut time.
*jams*

My Desk Smells Like Pizza

When I got it into my head to move to Hawaii, my mother told me right off the bat, “You know this means no birthdays (with us), no Christmas (with us), no more seeing the baby, right?” and I said yes. Quickly and without hesitation. I knew I wouldn't be there with my family anymore. (I was actually sort of looking forward to being alone for Christmas and not having to make a huge deal about it.) What I didn't know was that I wouldn't be there for my family.

That may seem like a no-brainer, but, for me, it wasn't. I'm kind of nutsy about my little brother and sister, and absolutely crazy about my niece. I fought with them like I fight with everyone (violently and loudly) but I love them to death. I took my brother out driving (me driving, not him) at least once a week, and we would get some sort of food and just talk for an hour or two. I went out with my little sister to go shopping or, once a month, going to our favorite sushi place and splitting the order. I talked to them (read: lectured them) on these drives, and I'm sure they loved that. And when I found out my older sister was going to have a baby, all I could think about was being an aunt, and, for everything I had in mind, my niece and I would have to be a lot closer—like, at least two states between us. So I didn't realize until I held my first online conversation with my little sister that I couldn't run upstairs and bop her in the face for something stupid she said. I also wouldn't he able to go home every day and talk to my mom and dad. This stuff didn't occur to me until after I'd moved, after I hated my job, hated thinking about money, had my first late phone bill and bad things had happened and my mom couldn't talk sense into me and make me see reason.

With the exception of their living situation, I watch the first seasons of Friends and have surprising affiliation with situations I used to not understand.

WE INTERRUPT THIS BLOG TO BRING YOU THIS BREAKING NEWS: Iron Man just came on my Pandora radio and, oh, dear god, I feel so much better.

[Five and a half minutes of awesomeness later] Anyway.

Ella, my cat, comes home on the 26^th. I work that night at Narbes, but I have the next day off and I'm going to work on getting her to like me again, because I know she won't. I haven't been to visit her in a while, but when I did she would get really pissy, and even bit me once—I wasn't handling her right, but she still put her teeth around my finger, and she's never done that before. So this is probably going to be like when I first got her and I'll have to reestablish the relationship. Good times.

It's A Conspiracy

Quite recently, I applied (and by “applied” I mean Katana nagged me until I put in an application and had my interview in the same thirty minutes) for a position in the Narbes cafe. Which is fun; I like the cafe and I like the people in the cafe (for the most part). What's not fun is that I also work at Hallmark four days a week, and now my schedules are quite often back to back.

This, as you can gather, was a mistake.

Take Monday. I had orientation at Narbes from 9:30 to 1:30, which meant that I had to get up at 7, leave the house by 8:30 to catch the bus to the mall and ZombieSlayer's house to get the black shirt I lent her so I could wear it to work, and then go to work. Again, not so bad, right? Not until you add on the fact that I worked in Hallmark from 2:00 to 9:30. Better yet, I get to do a similar run on Friday, working 7:30 to 3:30 at Narbes and 5:00 to 9:30 at Hallmark.

My fee hate me, by the way. At least I get a slight break in between, and a killer discount.

On a different but slightly consecutive note, I was babysitting two kittens during this period. Their names are Shoebox and Lucky. I've never owned a kitten before, and I've come to realize that they fall under the same category as human babies: I like them just fine when they are someone else's. I do not want my own.

My cat, Ella, is actually pretty easy to live with. She gets 75% of the bed, and I respond quickly when she meows. (Yes, I am whipped. No, I don't care. She is a princess.) The only times she has ever gotten in my face when I was in bed was when I was sick, couldn't respond to her meows and she wanted to see what was up. Then I coughed in her face and she ran away.

These kittens got in my face all the time. It was freaking ridiculous. I pushed them off and they came right back within five minutes. I finally put the fear of water in them and started spraying them when they annoyed me. Shoebox liked very much to sit on the back of my chair and either play with my ponytail or knead my sunburned shoulders with her claws. How considerate, right?

Okay, maybe I would like them a little better if I hadn't come home on Saturday to find all of my Snuff notes strewn across the floor. Just maybe.

In other news, BeccaTwoC started college and I'm sooo proouuddd 8'33333

Our carpet is still wet.

We are moving on the 16^th... but we have to be out of here on the 15^th. We only officially started moving things into our new house yesterday.

This was a mistake.

Last night, AK-47 got assistance from a friend's dad and we started moving things. That was fun. I actually haven't seen the bulk of the new house; I've seen the living room and front lanai.

Today, we had an appointment to have our carpets cleaned, so everything in the rooms had to be gone. That... sucked. There is a lot of crap in this apartment. There is 4½ peoples' worth of stuff in here. Even with a lot of it gone yesterday, we... have things.

The carpet cleaner was scheduled to arrive at 2. Hamburglar, AK-47 and I started clearing at 10. At noon, the guy called and said “Hey, can I come sooner? Like, now?”

“Um, no. We're not ready for you.”

“Okay, I'll come at two.”

Hamburglar and I were done by one. AK-47 was still working, but she was also done by 2. The guy, however, called at 1:45 to say he would be here at 2:30.

Uhmmm?

Alright. We took this time to clean a little bit more, goof off and all around become quite bored. When the guy came, we had to CLEAN OUT THE BATHROOM so his dumbass could use our tub for his water crap.

Me: “.....What.” There was nothing about that mentioned in my phone call to the operators.

After this, AK-47, Hamburglar and I went downstairs to sit around, be cold (“You can close the door,” AK-47 boldly states) and wonder at the workings of the universe.

The guy is done in a record 40 minutes. The carpet actually looks a lot better; like, there is more color than there are stains now, oh my god. He claims it will be done in 4 to 6 hours.

We had planned for this. We were aware that we would not be able to move anything this day. We didn't really have anything planned for the day. First order of business was to pick up ZombieSlayer and Katana. We then went to Curry House.

We also had to get some keys made. So we went to WalMart. They could not do this one key that we had. So we went to Sears (Katana had a moment of self-affirmation. She hates the jewelry section of Sears but she went through it. Yay.) They were able to make some of our keys, but not the main one. Damn.

We still have four hours to kill, so we hang around the patio section, sitting and talking and being tired of being out of the house. We make plans for tomorrow. AK-47 and I are going to commandeer LionDancer's van and make several high-priority trips to and from the new house. Yay, oh my god.

We drop ZombieSlayer off at the house she is sitting, and go home.

WHAT THE FUCK.

WHAT THE FUCKING HELL.

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

The carpet is still wet.

It has been 7 hours. SEVEN. HOURS.

We are sleeping on PLASTIC BAGS because all of our bedding stuff is on the lanai where we cannot reach it.

I am, as I type this, planning out my strongly worded message for the carpet cleaner's company. This is some major bullshit.

Pictures to follow.

P.S. AK-47 doesn't name her cold-blooded pets, which is bloodist. I named as many as I could. I named one of her bettas Tumor for... an unfortunately obvious reason.

P.P.S. Hamburglar was color-guard captain, and the high school across the lanai has nothing on them. They are not original at all.

A Venture Into the Happily Unknown

In my experience, the things that I like are not the things that are popular. I never make any concrete decision to dislike anything mainstream or well-known, or to go against the flow. It just happens. I do what I want, which can turn into some interesting situations. With the exception of some childhood necessities, like Sesame Street, army men and googles, I didn't really do the same thing as other people.

My fashion choices do not fall into any known category. Black t-shirts, black boots and blue jeans does not a goth make. Some magazines are trying to call the look “vamped up” (I've come to realize that “vamped up” means that a prep is wearing all black. It's annoying beyond words.) but I call it comfortable. I like black, but I'm not goth. I don't like wearing bright colors anymore. My closet is full of greys and blacks and blues and the very occasional white shirt. I like (read: love) shoes, but I pull on my combat boots before anything else. Which puts my 20-something pairs of shoes to complete and utter waste.

I like Lord Of The Rings, and Harry Potter, but I like serial killers better. I love Dexter. I will read, watch or learn anything about serial killers. I also like forensics. I will watch Bones any day of the week. Put a serial killer in Bones and I am so there. I like the creepy things in life, and I have a soft spot for vampires, but I don't go Abby Scuito on the things; I just like them.

So I'm trying to figure out why popular things are popular. I absolutely do not understand Twilight mania, as aforestated. I can go on and on about that. My recent study is Sex and the City. Seriously, what is it? Why are people so attracted to a show based around four women who choke out their lines, wear bad clothes, are utterly selfish with men and have poor lighting?

Let me break those four points down.

A) The Lines. I have never in my entire life seen anyone struggle so hard to show emotion. Repeating the same thing over and over does not an emote make. (Example: “You have to forgive me. You have to forgive me. Aiden, you have to forgive me. You have to forgive me.” Never once is there a change in tone. She doesn't even cry.) Along with the lines goes the never-moving expressions. Sarah Jessica Parker has two facial expressions: “I'm having sex but not really because I'm walking fabulously through New York” and “I'm a horse.”

B) The Clothes. If you want to watch something about really awesome clothes, watch The Devil Wears Prada. That has some damn fine threads. Sex and the City, not so much. Their clothes are ugly, plain and poorly suited, with the exception of one or two of Samantha's woman-suits... and their nudity. If I see one more obnoxiously huge flower, one more terrifying combination of tweed and rayon, I will shoot myself in the head. I will give them credit for the shoes; those are some nice shoes. But they are not well-matched to the outfits. And if they are such able fashionistas, why are they wearing socks with pumps? Why?!

C) Selfish with Men. I am hardly capable of giving out relationship advice, but I know that if you cheat on someone, you don't go back expecting to be forgiven just because the guy looks good. He probably looks good now so he can find a hotter chick, who doesn't look like a horse. And then when he tells you what a bitch you are, take it like the bitch you are. Don't run away crying like you never expected to be turned down. Honestly.

D) Poor Lighting. The whole thing looks like bad reality TV. (Which may or may not be the original intention. I'm not sure yet.) The outdoor city scenes, sure. Make it as grimy as you please. But indoors, please for the love of god brighten the thing up. Because when it's not bright (For reference purposes, please see any decent show, like The Big Bang Theory, Two and a Half Men, or freaking Top Chef), the rare bright colors they wear show up like neon green “MY BLIND LIBRARIAN DRESSED ME” signs. If you want the lighting to be dreary, the clothes have to be dreary. Otherwise, it's just bad.

So my question to the universe regarding Sex and the City's popularity is this: What up with that?”

Shark week! Oo ha ha!

The more responsibilities you get, the less shenanigans you can get yourself into. Granted, I don't have a whole crapload of responsibilities; I work three days a week, and watch TV in between. When I get off of work, I don't really have the energy for shenanigans. I used to have shenanigans every other day. I would start the day with “What can I do today that would be worth blogging about?” Now, my mentality is “Screw it, I was on my feet all day, give me a couch and a chilled water and I'm happy.”

For lack of better options, I guess I'll talk a little bit about work. I'm a sales associate, but I'm still in training so I haven't actually done any sales. My first day, I was doing scavenger hunts all over the store, trying to find cards to satisfy my “school work”. (They are actually referred to as SATs. True story.) The next day, I was wrapping present boxes and designing gift bags. (Very, very fun. Most of my bags are on sale now.) Today, I was rearranging the display cases that I was responsible for, so I could be proud of them. (Can I get an “AWESOME?!”?!) It's pretty fun.

In between, I'm watching TV. I really like The Real Housewives of New Jersey. I really LOVE Caroline. Top Chef is also pretty fantastical (PEA PUREE!! ARRRRGGHHH!!), and so is Bethenny Getting Married? Shark Week is currently taking over my work, though, and I'm sad that there are only two days left.

I do have some controversy in regards to Shark Week, however. I hate it when they contradict themselves between programs. One program shows how you don't have to fish for sharks to examine them, you can put them in a state of tonic immobility (wherein they obviously can't move, as long as you are touching their noses, and you can examine them, tag them and even teach with them without any worries... and they are generally in a very good mood when you release them, too) but then the next show focuses on fishing them to examine them. Sharks should not be fished for. They may be tough in skin, but the hooks can still hurt them, and who's to say what kind of adverse affect the experience will have on their personalities? Sharks are smart, they have memories, and if they remember being hurt by fishers, they could just attack innocent fishing boats. And that doesn't make them overly aggressive animals; all animals could be aggressive. A freaking goldfish could be aggressive if it was mistreated (I think? I wonder if the goldfish would remember?). So, for god's sake, stop showing things about fishing for sharks, while promoting their positive image.

In other news, Flaming Hot Cheetos coupled with spicy ramen is a head bomb waiting to happen. NO ONE TOUCH ME, I AM SWEATING CHILI SPICE.

What The Hell Was Perez Hilton Doing There?

Hamburglar found the greatest show in existence this morning. And it was a complete accident, which makes it even more awesome. The show is called “You're Cut Off” and it's about these complete divas who spend something between 7,000-10,000... a week. Their families finally get fed up with it and call in this life-coach person, Laura.

The girls are told that they're going to be featured on a show about their lavish spending habits called “The Good Life”, and are followed around by a camera crew for a week. All nine of the girls are brought to the same mall, where they go shopping as usual, all of their purchases are rung up... and their credit cards are declined.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” screamed they.

The girls are brought to the customer service place of the mall, and are shown videos from their families telling them how pathetic, shallow and overly confident they are in their credit card balances. They're sent to the intervention house (One girl comments “We're in the ghetto!” as they pull into a nice, suburban driveway) where they are given one duffle bag for all of their crap, and anything they can't fit into the duffle bag will be stored elsewhere.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” screamed they.

This is where the hilarity ensues. These spoiled bitches are forced to cook for themselves (on a budget they have to earn by doing chores; if they don't do the chores, the budget is cut down), clean up after themselves and shop in thrift stores. They were made to clean with a maid service... in Omarosa Manigault-Stallworth's house. OH MY GOD.

I am dying with laughter (and shock at their interviews) throughout the entire series of episodes. This show makes up for me cleaning bathrooms for my family.

And yet, at the same time, I sincerely hope that their antics are exaggerated. (One girl actually stated that she had no idea coupons existed, and didn't know how to use them.) They were so unbelievably clueless about how their actions may effect others. As I'm watching, I'm wondering how their families let them get out of control like this... because they sure as hell don't earn the money they're spending. You have to ask for money to spend money, and someone gave it to them. Whoever that is, I want to cut off their penis and/or steal their ovaries because they should not be allowed to breed ever again.

Unfortunately we didn't get to see the finale because we had to pick Katana up from work. Big. Fat. Bummer. On the list of things I'd rather not want to do tonight, having a stranger spontaneously appear in my apartment and order pizza with bacon and sausage (which equals blinding migraines for me), comes right after “make a painting with my own blood” and “eat rocks”.

My most prominent personality flaw, but one I can't/won't do anything about, is my hatred for strangers and visitors. Having my brothers and sisters visit once a month is stressful for me, and I love my brothers and sisters to death. But I still get stressed. If BeccaTwoC was coming to visit, I would still need at least twelve hours warning. BeccaTwoC is my best friend in the world. That is how strong this aversion to visitors is. Spontaneous visitors render me catatonic, especially when I have nowhere to hide. Our lanai is full of suitcases that were in the living room. My headphones are broken so I can't even block out the noise.

And then the bacon.

Nitrates give me terrible migraines. They always have. I actually see spots when hot bacon is in the room. Cold bacon, fine. But the fumes are terrible. It also comes in sausage and ham. (By the way, all three are on this pizza.) Best way to get me out of a room? Make bacon.

And bring strangers.

In other news, I'm turning in my job paperwork tomorrow and officially starting on Sunday. Wish me luck.

P.S. Hamburglar and ZombieSlayer finished Left 4 Dead. Yay. Now they get to go back and redo it.

Ye Olde Pretzel Tale

This is the tale of the pretzel M&M. It is a tale of despair. It is a tale of triumph.

So, right around the time that the M&M pretzels commercials came out, Hamburglar and I got very excited. We really wanted the pretzel M&Ms. So we set out to find them.

They were never in the displays.

Ever.

We checked, every time we went to a store that had candy.

(Pause, on my end, to hear a note from Sister Drama.)

I saw the bags on two occasions.

Once, when I was sick, I went to Long's for cough drops and Altoids and didn't have the cash moneys for anything else, but I saw a bag. And I got excited. But then I was sad. And I had to leave.

I saw them the second time at Safeway, but it was a nine dollar party bag. And I had to leave it.

Over the next few weeks, we checked Wal Mart, every Long's in Waikiki, and they were never there. And we were sad.

But today... we found them.

We found them in the Kahala Long's. Right where I saw them before but hadn't seen them since.

And they are magnificent. They are everything I ever hoped for.

AND THEY ARE NOT THE SAME AS CHOCOLATE-COVERED PRETZELS, OH MY GOD! I WILL SHANK ANYONE WHO SAYS OTHERWISE.

They are the Twinkie to my Tallahassee. The Helen to my Paris. And I love them so hard. I will never again need a man (or a woman) in my life if they make these a permanent item on the M&Ms menu.

P.S. What the hell is up with Sister Drama? Why do people act like everything they say is okay?

P.P.S. I say this after I commit to a hard chocolate candy.

A Very Bendy Birthday

Yesterday was Hamburglar's 22^nd birthday. So of course a great fuss had to be made. Katana likes fussing about birthdays (a fact that fills me with dread, considering I am next). Since it was going to be a very eventful day and I wanted to remember everything about it, I recorded the minutes in my phone. If you want to get a drink or take a leak, now would be the time to do it because this is a Very Long Entry.

11:45: On the bus.

11:50: Tourists. Hiss.

11:52: Tourist (male) with a purse. Not a hacky sack. A PURSE.

12:02: Coffee Bean And Tea Leaf is MY GOD. Feel bad about cheating on Narbes, though.

12:15: *counts pennies into rolls* Katana is a cheap bitch who won't go to CoinStar.

12:25: BIG FISH OMAIGOD *runs out of bank*

12:26: *converses with and names fish*

12:28: If I don't get a pet fish soon I will eat myself.

1:10: Waiting for our Genki order. I has a Flounder. (omaigod)

1:28: ZombieSlayer needs to stall Hamburglar.

(We get the sushi, Hamburglar's little sister, Little Ham, picks us up and drops us off at the apartment. We set up in AN AMAZINGLY SHORT AMOUNT OF TIME, and then we have reservations at a tea joint in Kailua that Hamburglar wanted to go to really badly.)

2:42: Holy crap. Our reservations are for 3 and we're not even on the road yet.

3:42: Ham's brakes failed. Balls. Goodyear sucks hard cock. They wouldn't take us and call their guy back even though he JUST LEFT. God bless LionDancer. (Minor note: The guy hadn't left yet. Katana and Hamburglar talked to him personally and he was shocked at the way we were treated. They were just being bitches. We took Cloud to another guy.)

4:24: We went to CPK. And we are stressed. Fuck Goodyear. I intend to leave them a strongly worded voice mail concerning our experience.

4:34: LionDancer is here! Funs to be had! (Shit, I'm hungry.)

4:39: Talking about Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. Awkward feelings toward Narbes. Lulz.

4:47: Bread rules!

4:52: LionDancer asks if I am going to the bathroom. I tell her no, I'm going to blow the place up. When I get back (after grooving to the bathroom music) I tell them we have 30 minutes to bingo. Lulz.

4:59: There is baseball playing and NO ONE IS WATCHING. You know why? Because baseball sucks.

5:09: Yay, birthday sundae!

5:27: Driving back to the mechanic's. We are still awesome. FYI.

5:27.5: “You know what's not here anymore?” “DUNKIN DONUTS!”

6 – 7:39: Presents and festivities.

7:42: “I WISH I HAD A FLYING BISON! I would Yip-Yip this crap!”

8:00: There is no seating at Dave and Busters. What the eff.

8:05: I really want to play but I don't think everyone wants to sit with me for six hours while I obsessively roll the ball.

8:07: I hate waiting, though. Balls.

8:21: They seated other people of equal or greater parties. We're still here. (This is because we're white, isn't it?)

8:22: They just seated parties of Mel, Matt and Nat. OMAIGOD SUCCESSORZ! (This still sucks, though.) ZombieSlayer went to talk to them. No improvement.

8:37: We finally sat down but now we have no fucking waiter.

8:46: Snow Cone = Win. (Little Ham: “Dangerous.”)

9:04: Bull Buster. Hamburglar hates me now.

9:06: The cup smells like fermented cough syrup. (Hamburglar likes it.)

9:10: Purple People Eater.

9:11: It tastes like purple DEATH.

9:11.5: It tastes like a popsicle.

9:12: We like it!

9:14: “It's happy hour somewhere...” “It's an hour and I'm happy.”

9:17: “Everything's starting to swim, thank you, BEK!” (My drink had Jagermeister in it.)

9:22: “This was made in China. I can still read.”

9:23: “I think you said canumption.”

9:25: The Shizzle and the Orange Cream Cooler are here. We like the Shizzle. The Cooler is “all kinds of Red Bull.”

9:29: Katana wants me to take a picture of everything, and not just Hamburglar. I don't quite care. I'mma smack a nerd.

9:32: I snuck upstairs past a bachelor party (we are now pals and I think they will have problems today when they look at their pictures and go “...Who is this chick?” because they asked me to pose with them. They deserve it. No one brings a camera to a bachelor party.) but I don't think they have my game.

9:35: Huge military type dude omg.

9:38: I ran downstairs because this guy wouldn't leave me alone. He was clearly drunk so I told him to meet me at the slots. (D&B had no slots that I could see.)

9:42: The Lethal Weapons. Little Ham is mean.

9:43: The Big TNT. Hrrrmmm. (The Lethal Weapon is nice, apparently. Like cinnamon.)

9:45: Hamburglar, Katana and A. are each going to do a Lethal Weapon. Katana has a happy.

9:47: The TNT tastes like... tea?

9:48: Hamburglar should not make any sudden movements. We are testing our fine motor skills by texting Facebook. Results are humorous.

9:50: The curfew is almost up. Hamburglar doesn't think she can walk to the car. But she is happy.

9:56: Hamburglar's hands are numb. YAY TOTAL DRUNKNESS!

10:00: Lean back.

10:02: It's past curfew and we're bad. Hamburglar has no water and she is le sad.

10:03: Katana gave Hamburglar water and she is le happy.

10:08: I can tell I'm happy because I'm dancing to hip hop. And also, Hamburglar is too drunk to eat her birthday brownie.

10:16: Scooby Snack. Katana downed it in half a second.

Those were the minutes of Hamburglar's birthday party. Her sister, Little Ham, flew in from Maui (not very far, bee-tee-dub) to spend it with her. We had a surprise party, and lots of festival crap. Etc. Because Katana makes a big deal out of everyone's birthday, I'm worried because I could care less about my birthday, and I don't like people making a big deal. But if I don't tell her anything I want to do, a big deal will be made. Argh.

EPILOGUE:

We went to pick up the car today, and the guy inflated her tires and changed her oil for no additional cost—which is good, because his labor price was seriously inflated but we couldn't go anywhere else because Goodyear is a bitch and we couldn't go home because we would have to go on the highway and she was driving with her emergency brake.

Then we went to Jack in the Box. Yay.

Drama, Beware

Today, I was scared. I was actually sick to my stomach with fright. The only other time I had ever been that terrified was when I was flying to Hawaii on my own for the very first time, I had never been on a plane before and I took six antacids. I don't get scared easily. I really don't. I carry a knife in my purse because my brother gave it to me before I moved. I have phobias, sure, of boats, bridges and stairs, but everyone has those.

What, you ask, could make me this sick with fear?

I read a Twi-Hard's blog today.

I found it by searching “Honolulu” on Blogger, and decided to... investigate the inner workings of my worst enemies.

I was not prepared.

First of all, you know all of those over-exaggerated impressions we do of Twilight fans going “I LOVE EDWARD! OMGOMGOMGOMG ROB IS SO HOOOOOTT!”? No, they actually do that. She actually wrote stuff like that. And this is a grown woman. She's married and has a child. And she does this. Actively. She drools over vampires and hates on werewolves.

Second, BEWARE THE SHERATON WAIKIKI HOTEL DECEMBER 3-5! There is a Twilight convention coming to town on that date. That might have scared me more than the blogger, because I knew Twi-hard fans existed, but I didn't know that there was going to be a gathering of them for more than two days. This is three days. (And to show what a freaking pig festival it is, the main cast won't even be there. Yeah, I investigated.)

Now, I hate Twilight for a few reasons. My sisters started reading it and it drove me crazy because they talked about it all the time. It was insane. They camped out at book stores waiting for the new books to come out. I secretly took a glance at what turned out to be Eclipse a few weeks after it came out and they gushed about it. I read one page and went “* vomit *” and set it down never, I thought, to return. Because my sisters talked about it so much, I had a lot of material for general bashing. I also gained material from BeccaTwoC, because her friends analyzed it and she shared the information with me. I never actually read it, but I could talk about it at length with quite a bite (lulz, pun).

I was talking to one of my coworkers about it one time. She really liked the books, for reasons I still have as yet to discern, and when we were talking about it, she was the first to ask “Have you read the books?” I told her that, well, no, I hadn't read them. She told me to read them and then make my own judgments.

This was a mistake on her part.

I already hated the books and everything that they represented. Yes, my information came from third parties and it wasn't actually my opinions. But then I read books one, two and four (I heard Bella died in the last one and got excited so I skipped) and had my own reasons to hate the books.

And to wonder why they were even published. They belong on a fan fiction site. That is how insanely poor the plot and writing is. I don't call myself a first-class writer, but I have read first-class writing, and Twilight is not that.

It took me a while to read the books because I had to keep setting them aside to make room for the vomit because they weren't mine. In the first half of Twilight, alone, I screamed “What the CRAP?!” no less than ten times. I was that shocked, and that sickened. When Edward left in New Moon, I actually went “Story is done now, yes? * checks remaining pages * Ohh...” and then watched as Bella tried to get by without a man in her life. Way to educate your readership, Meyer. GREAT job.

I would like to point out, on that note, that if anyone, regardless of who they are, regardless of their intentions, comes into my room to watch me sleep, they will get clubbed. I am not kidding. I will club you like a baby seal if you sneak into my room through the window uninvited. (Good luck, though, because I live on the 17^th floor.) This isn't even in reference to the vampire legend about not being able to come into homes uninvited; while that is a nice twist, especially how they handled it in Let The Right One In, it's mostly bullshit invented by priests who wanted people to feel safe. If you believe a legend, you probably won't question it. If you are a vampire. No, this has nothing to do with that. It has to do with breaking and entering and general creepiness. That horny bastard could get arrested. He actually could. Where is the romance in that, I ask you? It's not there; it doesn't exist. It is serenely ignored in light of how “romantic” it is. Excuse me while I vomit.

And don't even get me started on the sparkling. You know what? He lives in the woods, he doesn't harm humans, he sparkles—let's face it: Edward's not a vampire, he's a fucking fairy.

You know how the book should have gone? First of all, it would not be four books, it would be one quick-and-to-the-point book. Second, Bella would be sent to her father's by her mother and be a regular teenager who doesn't want to live where the sun don't shine. Third, Edward would try to attack her at least once. Fourth, Edward would get arrested by Bella's dad for stalking his daughter. Fifth, Edward breaks out of prison and hunts Bella down. He convinces her that he is a vampire (okay, fine, a vegetarian vampire) and that he wants to suck her blood because she's mm-mm-good. Sixth, Bella actually shows some sense of self-preservation and says “No, thank you, good sir.” Seventh, a Jasper miraculously appears and changes her. Om-nom-nom. Eighth, Bella freaks and goes on a rampage and kills Charlie so there's no human ties for her. Nineth, Edward stops her dumb ass and, like, ties her down, or something. Tenth, after convincing her of proper morals now that she's no longer mm-mm-good, they begin to fall in love naturally and then she is introduced to his family where she can be a proper member. Eleventh, no werewolves. Please pick your genre and adhere to it.

Doesn't that sound so much better? Honestly, I could write that. Take note, Meyer: This is how it should have gone.

Then I would be a fan. None of this mamby-pamby “I love you in spite of the fact that you want to kill me.” I—Please. Even Buffy and Angel had issues. Hell, even Buffy and Spike had issues. But it was still believable and realistic.

For, you know, a fantasy novel.

P.S. For those curious, my little sister made a full recovery.

Doo-dee-doo-doo-doo, Charlie Brown, doo-dee-doo-doo-doo...

What a clown, that Charlie Brown...

I'm waiting for the drama to dissipate from my life. I'll be waiting until I'm dead. And in the ground. Because then I won't have to worry about my funeral arrangements. (I want the song to be “Ding dong, the witch is dead”, by the way.) I'm totally going to worry about it right up until then, though.

I'm waiting for passive aggressiveness to become punishable by law. I'm waiting for people to realize that they are embarrassing themselves. I'm waiting for selective telepathy so you won't have to actually verbalize your intentions to the world. I'm waiting for whining to be punishable by a slap in the face without legal ramifications.

Of course, these are things that will never happen. I know you should be the change you want to see in the world, but I can't change people. I can't slap people in the face and say “You're not twelve!” I can't—well, actually, I could, but that wouldn't make my point. Because the whining usually takes place in a conversation where I'm trying to act like a therapist. I do believe, though, that if therapists slapped people and said “Stop that”, more good would be in the world. I think I'll look into that.

On a happier note, I am now up to 90%. For a while, there, I had difficulty breathing. I had to sigh to take a breath. I still do that from time to time, but not as frequently. I still cough, but only when I laugh. I think my lungs are still weak. But I definitely want to get back out in the world again. I want a freaking zen tea. (the drink, not the person. Lulz, possible mix-up.)

I also managed to revive my roommate A's turtle. She had this turtle who was... well, he was not animated, to say the least. I know turtles don't move a lot, but this one just did not, ever. So I put some wet paper towels under him and over him and he revived and started crawling around and climbed over my hand. I like him. I named him Oscar.

I'm also thinking of ways to rid the apartment of the smell of carcass. I don't mind dead things, but I do mind the smell. I don't think I could work in a morgue. Although I kind of want to be a medical examiner.

Also, this:

Why Can't I Talk About This Bitch Without Humming Bad Romance?

You know that old saying “If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all”? Well... “nice” is in the eye of the beholder. On that note, I will now talk about Katana.

Lulz, suspense.

I met Katana over two years ago (Actually, it was around the two-year anniversary that I came here for Kawaii Kon. I didn't keep track of the exact day.) in an online chatroom for Purgatory, the multi-fandom multi-player roleplay community we were both a part of. I had been banished from the internet for about a month by my parents, and when I came back and went into the chatroom, the first thing anyone said was “Hey, this is the Near!” I played Near, from Death Note, and Katana played Mello. As a result... Things.

If you've met Katana, you're probably her friend. You know why? Because Katana makes friends with everyone. Her record, I think, is about thirty-two minutes. Thirty-two minutes, and she'll have your phone number, Facebook account, and know at least three fun facts about you. Katana is very good at making friends.

I am not.

I don't really like making friends. I don't really like having friends. At Katana's point of entry, I had one (1) friend. BeccaTwoC and I had been friends for about four years – almost five, by my reckoning. I still sort of marvel over the fact that I was able to keep her for that long. (Because, yes, BeccaTwoC is my property, thank you very much.) I stubbornly avoid making friends because, frankly, I don't need that extra drama. (This was, by the way, my philosophy up until a year and a half ago. Now I'm fucked.)

My outlook on Katana was, “Okay, our characters are going to have to interact. Yes, she is crazy-happy, yes, she is overly-friendly. But I don't have to make friends with her. We'll just talk about our characters.”

This was a mistake stupid resolution, on my part. You don't talk to Katana just about characters. You know why? Because Katana would very much like to know your life's story, and she will hear it, come hell or high water – and if you are stranded in high water, you have time to kill waiting for the rescue boats so you may as well tell her. Save yourself the grief.

S-So, somehow we became friends? Or whatever? And now, suddenly I have four friends simultaneously? Or whatever? I'm not sure.

Oh, and Katana would like everyone to know that she likes zombies, even though she is scared to death of them (Ba-dum-bum-PSH!) and that Left 4 Dead is actually her game, but she is too scared to play it. But she likes zombies. A lot.

Also, she reads books, or something? I don't know. I tune her out. (Ba-dum-bum-PSH!)

(N-No? Honey, the post is about you... you should be excited, right? Right?)

(*Twenty minutes later* No, probably not.)

P.S. To whom it may concern, I am still sick, as evidenced by this post. And I am not amused. But I am feeling better. I'll try and crank out ZombieSlayer and BeccaTwoC before I'm completely healed, though.

P.P.S. Actually, the moral of this story is that Katana stalks people.

P.P.P.S But she prefers the term “friendly following”.