Monday, April 28, 2008
so i didnt have school today...not sure why.
im really tired so...yeah. i just wanted to say hi.
oh and i watched a marilyn monroe movie today, it made me happy :D
oh, and the other day, debra AKA yayforsugar got me obsessed with a show called the mighty boosh. WATCH THE VIDEOS BELOW AND LOOK AT THE MIGHTY BOOSH.
i need sleep.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
It appears our admin lady (ahem, that would be me) has lost the password to the admin account. And also the password for the email for the admin account.
So I can't add the new people.
Or make any changes.
Or do anything, really.
If I told any of you PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE email it to me at firstname.lastname@example.org and I will love you forever and ever and ever.
And I'm so so sorry!
Here is a video as a plea for forgiveness!
(Yeah, I know it's super old, and you've probably all seen it, but I still find it hilarious).
..Yeah, I probably just scarred you all for life. Sorry about that, too.
That chick deserves a medal for being able to fangirl over someone whose name she doesn't know, though.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Number of songs I have written thus far this year: 83.
Amount of cupcakes I made yesterday: 15.
Number of times I have said "WTF?!" over the engagement of AshWentzDay: 306.
How long I laughed today at the fact that my conservative Serbian grandfather was a huge Alice Cooper fan: Too long.
Number of times my mother has yelled at me over trivial things today: 928139.
Days till the Panic! At the Disco show: 4 months and 3 days. ohyes.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
So here is a short story written in the 1920s by New Zealand writer Katherine Mansfield.
She was this super rebellious friend of Virginia Woolf who had a husband and a girlfriend at the same time.
Anyway, this is possibly the cutest thing ever, it is called:
"Sun and Moon".
(please to be ignoring the [page something] things. I can't be bothered deleting them all, rofl.)
IN the afternoon the chairs came, a whole big cart full of little gold ones with their legs in the air. And then the flowers came. When you stared down from the balcony at the people carrying them the flower pots looked like funny awfully nice hats nodding up the path.
Moon thought they were hats. She said: "Look. There's a man wearing a palm on his head." But she never knew the difference between real things and not real ones.
There was nobody to look after Sun and Moon. Nurse was helping Annie alter Mother's dress which was much-too-long-and-tight-under-the-arms and Mother was running all over the house and telephoning Father to be sure not to forget things. She only had time to say: "Out of my way, children!"
They kept out of her way–at any rate Sun did. He did so hate being sent stumping back to the nursery. It didn't matter about Moon. If she got tangled in people's legs they only threw her up and shook her till she squeaked. But Sun was too heavy for that. He was so heavy that the fat man [Page 209] who came to dinner on Sundays used to say: "Now, young man, let's try to lift you." And then he'd put his thumbs under Sun's arms and groan and try and give it up at last saying: "He's a perfect little ton of bricks!
Nearly all the furniture was taken out of the dining-room. The big piano was put in a corner and then there came a row of flower pots and then there came the goldy chairs. That was for the concert. When Sun looked in a white faced man sat at the piano–not playing, but banging at it and then looking inside. He had a bag of tools on the piano and he had stuck his hat on a statue against the wall. Sometimes he just started to play and then he jumped up again and looked inside. Sun hoped he wasn't the concert.
But of course the place to be in was the kitchen. There was a man helping in a cap like a blancmange, and their real cook, Minnie, was all red in the face and laughing. Not cross at all. She gave them each an almond finger and lifted them up on to the flour bin so that they could watch the wonderful things she and the man were making for supper. Cook brought in the things and he put them on dishes and trimmed them. Whole fishes, with their heads and eyes and tails still on, he sprinkled with red and green and yellow bits; he made squiggles all over the jellies, he stuck a collar on a ham and put a very thin sort of a fork in it; he dotted almonds and tiny round biscuits on [Page 210] the creams. And more and more things kept coming.
"Ah, but you haven't seen the ice pudding," said Cook. "Come along." Why was she being so nice, thought Sun as she gave them each a hand. And they looked into the refrigerator.
Oh! Oh! Oh! It was a little house. It was a little pink house with white snow on the roof and green windows and a brown door and stuck in the door there was a nut for a handle.
When Sun saw the nut he felt quite tired and had to lean against Cook.
"Let me touch it. Just let me put my finger on the roof," said Moon, dancing. She always wanted to touch all the food. Sun didn't.
"Now, my girl, look sharp with the table," said Cook as the housemaid came in.
"It's a picture, Min," said Nellie. "Come along and have a look." So they all went into the dining-room. Sun and Moon were almost frightened. They wouldn't go up to the table at first; they just stood at the door and made eyes at it. It wasn't real night yet but the blinds were down in the dining-room and the lights turned on–and all the lights were red roses. Red ribbons and bunches of roses tied up the table at the corners. In the middle was a lake with rose petals floating on it.
Two silver lions with wings had fruit on their backs, and the salt cellars were tiny birds drinking out of basins.
And all the winking glasses and shining plates and sparkling knives and forks–and all the food. And the little red table napkins made into roses. . . .
"Are people going to eat the food?" asked Sun.
"I should just think they were," laughed Cook, laughing with Nellie. Moon laughed, too; she always did the same as other people. But Sun didn't want to laugh. Round and round he walked with his hands behind his back. Perhaps he never would have stopped if Nurse hadn't called suddenly: "Now then, children. It's high time you were washed and dressed." And they were marched off to the nursery.
While they were being unbuttoned Mother looked in with a white thing over her shoulders; she was rubbing stuff on her face.
"I'll ring for them when I want them, Nurse, and then they can just come down and be seen and go back again," said she.
Sun was undressed first, nearly to his skin, and dressed again in a white shirt with red and white daisies speckled on it, breeches with strings at the sides and braces that came over, white socks and red shoes.
"Now you're in your Russian costume," said Nurse, flattening down his fringe.
"Yes. Sit quiet in that chair and watch your little sister."
Moon took ages. When she had her socks put on she pretended to fall back on the bed and waved her legs at Nurse as she always did, and every time Nurse tried to make her curls with a finger and a wet brush she turned round and asked Nurse to show her the photo of her brooch or something like that. But at last she was finished too. Her dress stuck out, with fur on it, all white; there was even fluffy stuff on the legs of her drawers. Her shoes were white with big blobs on them.
"There you are, my lamb," said Nurse. "And you look like a sweet little cherub of a picture of a powder-puff!" Nurse rushed to the door. "Ma'am, one moment."
Mother came in again with half her hair down.
"Oh," she cried. "What a picture!"
"Isn't she," said Nurse.
And Moon held out her skirts by the tips and dragged one of her feet. Sun didn't mind people not noticing him–much. . . .
After that they played clean tidy games up at the table while Nurse stood at the door, and when the carriages began to come and the sound of laughter and voices and soft rustlings came from down below she whispered: "Now then, children, stay where you are." Moon kept jerking the table cloth so that it all hung down her side and Sun hadn't any–and then she pretended she didn't do it on purpose. [Page 213]
At last the bell rang. Nurse pounced at them with the hair brush, flattened his fringe, made her bow stand on end, and joined their hands together.
"Down you go!" she whispered.
And down they went. Sun did feel silly holding Moon's hand like that but Moon seemed to like it. She swung her arm and the bell on her coral bracelet jingled.
At the drawing-room door stood Mother fanning herself with a black fan. The drawing-room was full of sweet smelling, silky, rustling ladies and men in black with funny tails on their coats–like beetles. Father was among them, talking very loud, and rattling something in his pocket.
"What a picture!" cried the ladies. "Oh, the ducks! Oh, the lambs! Oh, the sweets! Oh, the pets!"
All the people who couldn't get at Moon kissed Sun, and a skinny old lady with teeth that clicked said: "Such a serious little poppet," and rapped him on the head with something hard.
Sun looked to see if the same concert was there, but he was gone. Instead, a fat man with a pink head leaned over the piano talking to a girl who held a violin at her ear.
There was only one man that Sun really liked. He was a little grey man, with long grey whiskers, who walked about by himself. He came up to Sun and rolled his eyes in a very nice way and said: "Hullo, my lad." Then he went away. But soon [Page 214] he came back again and said: "Fond of dogs?" Sun said: "Yes." But then he went away again and though Sun looked for him everywhere he couldn't find him. He thought perhaps he'd gone outside to fetch in a puppy.
"Good night, my precious babies," said Mother, folding them up in her bare arms. "Fly up to your little nest."
Then Moon went and made a silly of herself again. She put up her arms in front of everybody and said: "My Daddy must carry me."
But they seemed to like it, and Daddy swooped down and picked her up as he always did.
Nurse was in such a hurry to get them to bed that she even interrupted Sun over his prayers and said: "Get on with them, child, do." And the moment after they were in bed and in the dark except for the nightlight in its little saucer.
"Are you asleep?" asked Moon.
"No," said Sun. "Are you?"
"No," said Moon.
A long while after Sun woke up again. There was a loud, loud noise of clapping from downstairs, like when it rains. He heard Moon turn over.
"Moon, are you awake?"
"Yes, are you?"
"Yes. Well, let's go and look over the stairs."
They had just got settled on the top step when the drawing-room door opened and they heard the party cross over the hall into the dining-room. [Page 215] Then that door was shut; there was a noise of "pops" and laughing. Then that stopped and Sun saw them all walking round and round the lovely table with their hands behind their backs like he had done. Round and round they walked, looking and staring. The man with the grey whiskers liked the little house best. When he saw the nut for a handle he rolled his eyes like he did before and said to Sun: "Seen the nut?"
"Don't nod your head like that, Moon."
"I'm not nodding. It's you."
"It is not. I never nod my head."
"O–oh, you do. You're nodding it now."
"I'm not. I'm only showing you how not to do it."
When they woke up again they could only hear Father's voice very loud, and Mother, laughing away. Father came out of the dining-room, bounded up the stairs, and nearly fell over them.
"Hullo!" he said. "By Jove, Kitty, come and look at this."
Mother came out. "Oh, you naughty children," said she from the hall.
"Let's have 'em down and give 'em a bone," said Father. Sun had never seen him so jolly.
"No, certainly not," said Mother.
"Oh, my Daddy, do! Do have us down," said Moon.
Sun thought Mother would have been dreadfully cross. But she wasn't. She kept on laughing at Father.
"Oh, you dreadful boy!" said she. But she didn't mean Sun.
"Come on, kiddies. Come and have some pickings," said this jolly Father. But Moon stopped a minute.
"Mother–your dress is right off one side."
"Is it?" said Mother. And Father said "Yes" and pretended to bite her white shoulder, but she pushed him away.
And so they went back to the beautiful dining-room. But–oh! oh! what had happened. The ribbons and the roses were all pulled untied. The little red table napkins lay on the floor, all the shining plates were dirty and all the winking glasses. The lovely food that the man had trimmed was all thrown about, and there were bones and bits and fruit peels and shells everywhere. There was even a bottle lying down with stuff coming out of it on to the cloth and nobody stood it up again.
And the little pink house with the snow roof and the green windows was broken–broken–half melted away in the centre of the table.
Moon lifted up her pyjama legs and shuffled up to the table and stood on a chair, squeaking away.
"Have a bit of this ice," said Father, smashing in some more of the roof.
Mother took a little plate and held it for him; she put her other arm round his neck.
"Daddy. Daddy," shrieked Moon. "The little handle's left. The little nut. Kin I eat it?" And she reached across and picked it out of the door and scrunched it up, biting hard and blinking.
"Here, my lad," said Father.
But Sun did not move from the door. Suddenly he put up his head and gave a loud wail.
"I think it's horrid–horrid–horrid! " he sobbed.
"There, you see! "said Mother. "You see!"
"Off with you," said Father, no longer jolly. "This moment. Off you go!"And wailing loudly, Sun stumped off to the nursery.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
She smiles at the rain on the window and rolls over to wake him up. She starts as she rolls into emptiness. What a big bed. He doesn’t sleep here anymore. He doesn’t live here, doesn’t sleep next to her, doesn’t make the flat echo. She curls into a ball. The morning doesn’t seem quite so appealing anymore. She flops over to the couch, sighs and grabs the television remote. Saturday morning television. She turns it off.
As she lies on the couch, she wonders what he is doing. Is he asleep? Or eating breakfast? Or maybe, whispers a husky little voice in her mind, maybe he’s still curled up next to….No. She won’t think of that. She mopes into the kitchen. She looks around and can’t see anything to do in here. She isn’t hungry. She hardly eats anymore. She knows that he used to think that she was fat. She’s thinner now. Maybe she should send him a picture message? Maybe not. It’d be quicker to call. She glances at the phone. And looks away. She walks back into the bedroom. She tells herself she’s going back to make the bed, not running away. She is not afraid.
It is her flat, a small flat, but there’s nothing to hide from anymore. She enters her room and sees the cordless phone. She drops onto the bed, sighing. She pulls the covers over her head, curls into a ball again and tries not to think of him. She rolls onto her side, lowers the doona and peeks at the phone. She shuts her eyes quickly.
She should call him. She wants to call him.
She thinks some more. She knows she really shouldn’t call him. He left her; he should be the one to call. A sigh escapes. She pulls the doona over her head again, so she can’t see the phone. She shuts her eyes and tries to sleep.
Her mind drifts.
She remembers other days spent under doonas. Under this doona, in this bed. She was hiding then too. She can never remember what she did to make him so angry. She knows it must have been hard for him to live with her. She was always doing something wrong. She sighs. She wishes, under her breath, that she had tried harder to please him. Maybe if she called him again, if she told him she’d be better? This thought merits another sigh.
She rolls over, firmly putting her back to the phone. She tells herself to ignore him, to think about her family, her friends, anything else. Anything but him. Her friends then. She can see them in her mind. Laughing with her, laughing at her. She hasn’t seen them for so long. He didn’t get along with her friends. She scowls. She was thinking about him again. Why? What about her parents? He never liked them. To be fair, they didn’t like him either. She remembers the fights they’d had when she wanted to go home for Christmas.
She kicks out, then lays flat, her arms and legs stretched out. This morning is bad. She’d managed the last two weeks without moping much. All those memories, all the good days, all the bad days. Her breath escapes slowly. She remembers a lot of bad days.
She feels that she can’t have been as bad as he made out. She’d lived with other people before him. She hadn’t annoyed anyone else so much. She frowns, she’s still thinking of him. She wonders if he ever thinks about her any more. She reaches down to scratch her foot. She should just check, one more time, that he won’t change his mind. How could he not think of her? Maybe he really does miss her; maybe he’s just shy about calling her. Not that he was ever shy about anything. She remembers how people used to tell her she was shy around him. She supposes they just didn’t understand the relationship. The little voice whispers, traitorously, neither did you. Her frown deepens. She tells herself that she’s just being bitter, and that the relationship was just too complex to try to explain. Oh, yes, very complex. More subtle murmurs. You spoke and then he … No. The voice had no idea about it. The voice had no right to sneer at her. The voice had no right to judge. Everyone was always passing judgement about her.
Everyone. Him. The voice.
Well, she’d show the voice. She’d call him up and make the voice see how wrong it was. Oh God, she thinks, she was arguing with a figment of her imagination. She sighs and wriggles the doona down. She reaches for the phone. As she picks it up, something odd happens. Her throat tingles with remembered screams. She drops it.
Shaking her head as if to clear it, she places her hand on its cool plastic again. Her palm aches with not-quite-forgotten blows. She doesn’t understand. She wants to call him. She slowly removes her hand from the phone.
The voice. Could it be that the voice was making her think these things? No. She knows it is just her mind, seeing what she wants to. Or hearing, in this case. She knows the truth. She was worth nothing to him. He was all she had had, all she had lived for. And now he is gone. She knows what she should do. She collects her little friends from their hiding place. She walks into the kitchen, this time completely ignoring the phone. Arriving at the sink, she pours a cool glass of water. She moves the glass to her mouth like a woman drugged. Why had it taken her so long to understand that this is what he had wanted of her? He had begun the task, by hurting her so, and she would finish it. Now.
She would never see it, but hours later, he would stand in the kitchen; looking over the wreck of the woman he had loved. He would explain to the detectives, show them the little glass bottles, give them the doctor’s contact details. He would describe her instability, her insanity, the wounds sustained from her. He would remember how he had loved her, how he had been so afraid of her, how she had refused his offers of help. He would blame himself. He would cry.
But for now, she lies alone, and the rain continues.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Also, POST MORE, YOU GUYS.
BE GETTIN' BLOGGY WIF IT.
PS: I wrote a review of Panic! At the Disco's new album. Checkit, bb.